


Ascension

by ThePraxianWeasleyGeek



Series: To The Stars And Back Again [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: (in season 2), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Autobots are fugitives, Decepticon-controlled Cybertron, F/M, Multi, Spark Bond, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and/or rebels, from Patch, politics and all that jazz, sorta - Freeform, starcee - Freeform, there are sex scenes in this be warned, very minor background characters given larger roles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek/pseuds/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Cybertron restored and under Decepticon control, Starscream and Arcee find themselves thrown together in an attempt to keep Vos (and the Autobots) out of Megatron's clutches. Both have mistakes they want to escape, and wrongs they need to right, but the path they have set themselves on is riddled with hardships of its own. </p><p>(Will include other parings as story progresses).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Gift Exchange

"Few things of value come without a price. So tell me, Starscream... What is it that you wish in return?"

The seeker's jaw was set as he knelt at Megatron's pedes, the four Omega Keys spread in a fan between them. Steeling himself, he raised his helm to meet the warlord's gaze.

"I ask that you use the Omega Keys to restore Cybertron to its rightful glory, my liege," he replied, stammering slightly as the Decepticon commander glared. "And once you have done so, I ask... I ask for my city. My price is that I am granted independence and instated as the ruler of Vos." He lowered his helm, voice developing a slight rasp. "I realise now that I was foolish to believe I could restore our planet alone. However, it is my dearest wish to lead my home city and personally see that it remains ever-loyal to the Decepticon cause."

Megatron scrutinised the smaller mech for several long, loud seconds. Finally, he gave a slight jerk of his helm in assent.

"Very well, Starscream," he agreed. "Once I have restored Cybertron, you shall have independent rule of Vos. It seems a reasonable price for the Keys. But be warned - if you abuse your independence; if you cross me in any way, the consequences will be as severe as it is within my power to make them."

"Understood, my liege," Starscream replied, delight evident in his expression despite the threat. The larger mech turned to leave and the seeker scrambled to his pedes, hastening to follow. "I - you have my word that I will remain loyal, I swear!"

"It would be wise for you to keep that promise," Megatron warned.

To himself, he added. "This time, not only for your sake."


	2. Chapter One: Outsiders

Starscream had heard him.

To this day, he was unsure whether it had been intentional - whether Megatron had meant for him to overhear that threat, or if he was supposed to have been kept in the dark.

Either way, the warlord had certainly used that request to his advantage, the seeker mused as he gazed out of the window. He wondered if what he saw before him had been the plan all along. Had Megatron been scheming even as the words left Starscream's vocal processor all those years ago? True, in reality it had only been twenty stellar cycles, but it seemed far longer to Vos' Winglord.

The mech gave a snort of humourless laughter at that thought. _Winglord_. By all rights and by the customs of his city he should have been the Crown Prince. But such a title could indicate a power above Megatron, and of course that couldn't be allowed.

It seemed that in the Decepticon commander's view, Vos existed purely to be repressed and extorted. Twenty years ago Cybertron had been resurrected, and Decepticons (along with converts to the cause) had poured in from every corner of the galaxy. Their numbers had been comparatively few considering the army's size before the war, so Megatron had used the newly-restored Vector Sigma to boost their ranks. Even so, they had been unable to stop a steady trickle of Autobots and Neutrals from slipping in under the radar, and by the time these newcomers had settled in Kaon and Tarn it had been too late. Megatron had taken Iacon, but had lost one of the planet's best sources of raw materials.

As such, he had turned to Vos. The city perched on a cliff that sat above several rich mining veins, and it was this that had afforded it enough resources before the war to be self-sufficient, and opulent on top of that.

That wasn't the case anymore, though, thought Starscream bitterly. Megatron had wasted no time commencing with the process of draining Vos dry. The seeker had been in line to take a place on the city's senate back before joining the Decepticons, and it pained him to see how quickly its newly-restored beauty had deteriorated. Cybertron's _Lord Prote cto_ _r_ kept up extortionate demands that the citizens struggled to meet - let alone retaining anything for the city's own use!

It was all planned, of course. Megatron was deliberately crippling both Starscream and his city in order to keep them in check. He had conscripted nearly every warrior-class seeker into the Decepticon army, leaving Vos almost completely defenceless against the Autobot raids that had occurred towards the start of the planet's new era. And his conquest of Earth - which had been running for ten years now with no victory, thanks to Autobot intervention - had placed an even higher demand on the city.

The toll that Vos was paying certainly showed. Outside Starscream's window seekers flitted about anxiously, hurriedly going about their daily business with dull optics and bowed helms. Every one of them looked haggard and worn. The buildings had quickly lost their newly-minted shine when nobody could keep up with their maintenance - towers and pavilions that had stood as proud testament to Vos' grandeur now crouched with shattered domes and fractured spires, nursing their wounds on a broken skyline. Many citizens bore scuffed and charred armour, their shoulders permanently hunched as a result of being forced to work in the cramped mines and smelting pits.

It was this last factor that angered Starscream the most. Seekers were creatures of the air. They needed open space and freedom to fly in order to stay healthy, much as the minibots had relied on their close-knit family units for security; just as the Praxians had thronged the Assembly each day to satisfy their thirst for knowledge and culture. Megatron had used their dependance to his advantage, harnessing the power of the fliers' preprogrammed claustrophobia in order to keep them subdued.

The warlord claimed to have both liberated and restored Cybertron, but in truth he had done neither. The planet was a shrivelled husk compared to its old glory, with its inhabitants even more repressed than before.

Starscream sighed. Megatron's manifesto had deceived so many, including himself. Before the war, he'd believed that the Decepticons were the way towards change and a better Cybertron. _During_ the war, he'd been twisted beyond all recognition, by those around him and also his own ambitions. Now he was a bitter shadow of what he'd once been, finally starting to perceive the error in his judgement only when it was far too late. It was the same for all those who had been taken in by Megatron, and they were paying dearly for their mistake.

Funny, really, that he was this concerned for an entire city. A single mech would've been lucky to extract even a pinch of sympathy from him an orn ago.

No, Starscream corrected himself. What was funny was that Megatron thought he could push a seeker and his birthplace this far without something snapping along the way. And something had snapped - deep within said seeker's processor, Starscream suspected. Why else would he have that particular encoded datapad tucked away from spies and prying optics?

Why else would he have started fighting back?

After all, however hopeless things looked, there was still resistance. One simply needed to know the right people...

* * *

 Arcee scowled, her denta scraping over each other painfully as she glared up at the citadel from a narrow alley. Typically Starscream, claiming the largest and most imposing building for himself. And there was a statue of him outside. A fragging _statue_! As if he were some great hero or saviour of Cybertron!

A static flicker crackled over her body and she swore under her breath. Stupid electronic paintjob was playing up again. It made scouting missions stupidly risky, but there was really no other option - the Autobots were far too low on resources. Things were awkward enough having to get by as groundpounders in a city built for seekers, without adding in a shortage of supplies. Though the choice of location was a good idea. It would be far less likely for the Decepticons to target a city of fliers when searching for vehicular bots, even if Vos was notorious for sheltering Neutrals. After all, their opponents already held Cybertron's two southernmost cities - why would they suspect the Autobots of sending a group so deep into enemy lands, let alone somewhere designed for those who lived in the air?

Optimus had played that advantage, of course. Being stationed this far into Decepticon territory was dangerous almost to the point of insanity, but it had also been incredibly beneficial for running and coordinating missions, as well as gathering intelligence.

That said, Arcee couldn't wait until their time in Vos came to an end. They'd already been in the city for half a stellar cycle, and she didn't think she could take much longer staying in the same place as the mech who'd posed for that ridiculous statue.

He'd obviously posed for it. No Cybertronian she knew of had that ostentatious a posture naturally.

A commlink pinged in her helm.

:: _Chromia to Arcee. Do you copy?_ ::

The femme raised a servo to her head, tearing her optics away from their blistering hold on the main square.

"Affirmative," she replied. "I'm gonna have to cut the patrol off early, though - paintjob's acting up again."

:: _Alright_ :: Chromia replied, a sigh gusting over the commline. :: _And 'Cee? Be careful if you are where I think you are. That'd be the worst place to be spotted_ ::

"It's so frustrating, though!" Arcee growled defensively. The city wasn't exactly on her designated patrol, but she always made a point to visit and send a glare in its direction. Especially at the statue. "His citizens are wasting away around him, and all he ever does is sit up in that tower _and watch it happen!_ "

:: _Count your blessings, 'Cee_ :: Chromia warned. :: _If he **did** venture out more often, if he did more about this, there'd be a higher likelihood of us being discovered_ ::

"I guess you're right," Arcee sighed. "It's just... we've dreamed of restoring Cybertron for eons. And the 'Cons had that chance, but they're just killing it again."

:: _Could you really expect anything more of them?_ ::

"I think I _was_ expecting more, yeah," the cycleformer replied. "We all missed home, we all wanted to go back. Starscream had the literal key to that and he handed it over to Megatron. And he doesn't even care about the result."

:: _S o it's less a_ _bout the 'Cons, and more about **his** choice, then?_ :: the older femme asked. When Arcee didn't respond, she continued. :: _Anyway, you'd best get back quickly if the paintjob's glitching_ ::

"Understood. Arcee out."

The femme checked that her frame was still covered by a layer of holographic black before shooting the citadel a last, venomous glance and slipping off down the alleyway. 

* * *

"These are the crates that were appropriated?" 

The silent mech nodded once, visor reflecting his master's profile as Megatron studied the boxes. A thick, wickedly sharp claw traced over an emblem on the side of the nearest case of artillery. 

"Vos' _royal_ seal..." he murmured, injecting a heavy dose of mockery into the word. "And these were taken from the Autobots? You are certain of that?" 

Another silent nod. 

"Of course, it could be the result of an Autobot raid," the warlord mused, before giving a short, dark laugh. "However, knowing Starscream it would be wise to doubt that. It seems that he requires further reining in." 

Though enforcing any kind of punishment would be difficult without concrete proof, and the seeker's slipperiness had been a constant frustration for the warlord. Megatron was fully aware that if he had Vos' Winglord hauled away for punishment on the grounds of mere suspicion (however strong that suspicion might be), he would have a full uprising on his hands from the seekers. Using the city as a primary source of materials, while beneficial to the Decepticon cause overall, meant that he had to be wary of providing its residents with any reason to rebel. For countless years he had walked a thin line between suppressing Starscream and his city so that they would not pose a threat, and keeping the situation just balanced enough to avoid any major unrest.

But if Starscream truly did pose a threat, he would have to be removed. All previous attempts to uncover the truth had been fruitless - neatly dodged by the seeker as he sat at the centre of a community whose members were all deeply loyal and protective of him. Nothing short of invading the mech's mind would uncover his true intentions. A cortical psychic patch was a possible option, but having the flier brought in for questioning would undoubtedly stir up the seekers. It seemed that futile spying efforts were the only way to continue. Or... 

The gleam of an idea had manifested in Megatron's optic. There was more than one way to get inside a mech's mind.

"He has managed to avoid other attempts to spy on him in the past, but...

"Soundwave - contact the newly-promoted outpost commander in Kalis. I have a... _proposal_ for her. She seems eager to improve her standing in the Decepticon force, so I believe she will agree. And have a commline to Vos established should she accept."

The spy dipped his helm in affirmation a final time and left the room.

"He will not escape me now," Megatron muttered to himself. "If Starscream _has_ been aiding the Autobots, this will expose him once and for all." 

 

* * *

A lithe black figure stole across the narrow street and pressed its palm to a section of wall. After a couple of seconds there was a hiss from the passage around the corner and Arcee followed the noise, dropping silently through the hatchway that had opened at her touch. The trapdoor slid closed above her as she stood up.

"Hey," she called down the corridor, deactivating her electronic paintjob to expose blue armour underneath. "No news from the world above, I'm afraid. But I'm gonna need Perceptor to take a look at this thing." 

She detached the camoflague chip from the back of her neck as she spoke, before heading deeper into the base. 

A silver-blue femme stood in the doorway to the main room. 

"I'll take that," she offered, holding out a servo for the chip. "Need to speak to Percy later about repairs to my handgun."

"Thanks," Arcee replied, giving Chromia a quick smile. However, as she turned to enter the room footsteps clattered up behind her.

"Did I hear you say you needed something taking to Perceptor?" 

"Wha- Oh, hi, Moonracer. Yeah, 'Cee's paintjob chip's been glitching."

"I can deliver it! I was on my way over to the lab just now."

"Does that storeroom they're using even count as a lab?" Arcee asked skeptically, giving the green femme an odd look. "And why're you always spending time there anyway? It's not like you've got any interest in science."

"Hey, it may be small, but it's not a storeroom! And why shouldn't I help in the lab? I may as well be useful if I need something to do - I mean, I'd rather be training or whatever, but we don't exactly have a shooting range down here." 

Arcee couldn't decide if her expression was more defensive or indignant as the sharpshooter folded her arms. Grinning at her slightly petulant pout, the two-wheeler nodded to Chromia. 

"You heard her. She wants to be useful for once - let her take the chip."

"Oh, har har. Who was it that saved your skidplate during that raid on Polyhex, again? Can't have been me if I'm so _useless_." 

Smiling despite her words, Moonracer accepted the chip from Chromia and headed down the passage.

"She's got other reasons than wanting to help for spending so much time in the lab," Chromia muttered shrewdly as the two remaining femmes walked into the main room. 

"What reasons are they, then?" 

The older femme smirked and said nothing, turning away to talk to a powerfully built, battle-scarred red mech. With a snort that was half exasperated, half amused, Arcee sloped over to the energon store in the corner. 

"There you are! It took you long enough to get back!"

"What now, Ratchet?" the femme groaned. "I already told you - my shoulder joint was fine _last_ time you checked it." 

The medic gave an irritated huff that sounded suspiciously like ' _I beg to differ_ '. 

"That's not what you're needed for," he replied. "Optimus wants to speak to you in a couple of cycles - once he's done talking with Sideswipe." 

"Still no luck finding Sunny, then?" Arcee asked, folding her arms. Ratchet sighed. 

"Sadly, no. We're starting to think that the only scenario in which he'd still be alive is if he's been taken prisoner."

"We can't tell Sides that," the femme murmured, glancing worriedly at the door to the Prime's office. 

"We may not have a choice. Sideswipe's not stupid - he's sure to figure it out soon." 

It was almost as though their conversation had been overheard by its subject: at that exact moment the door opened and Sideswipe stomped into the room, optics dark. Ironhide paused his conversation with Chromia to say something to him, but the younger warrior brushed past without a word.

"Arcee?" 

Optimus had appeared in the doorway, his expression grave. With one last, worried glance at Sideswipe, the femme crossed the room to enter his office. 

 

* * *

Starscream's servos shook with rage as he turned away from the monitor. He had previously thought that Megatron could not be any more controlling and thoughtless, but this utter _madness_ really took the proverbial oilcake. That he would even _consider_ forcing someone into such a situation - it just proved that the warlord had passed beyond the reach of sanity entirely! He would feel sorry for this outpost commander, if it weren't painfully obvious that she had only agreed because he himself had been marked for slaughter. 

With an infuriated snarl, he swept a pile of datapads off his desk in a vicious slash. Just when things had been progressing, it was all going to be snatched from his servos. Now he would never have the chance to correct his mistake... 

Because Starscream knew that this was all his fault. For a time he had held the literal keys to Cybertron's restoration in his very hands, and he had relinquished them. Now he was forced to stand by and watch while the planet was torn apart as a result of his choice. 

Emitting a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry of rage, the seeker collapsed into his desk chair and buried his helm in his servos. 

He would have to tell them. There was no way that he could continue to provide assistance - not now that his privacy was set to be invaded in this most perverse of ways. Sighing, he reached for a hand-held communicator, lifting his helm minutely to view the screen. 

"Hello, old friend," he murmured when the display lit up to show a mech's face. "I'm afraid the time has come when I need to request an audience. Be warned, though - they're not going to like this..."

 

* * *

"I... you want me to do _what_?"

Optimus regarded her with a slightly puzzled expression as the femme spread her servos in disbelief.

"I understand that you may be reluctant to accept the post, given what transpired upon our departure from Earth," he informed Arcee gravely. "I did not expect you to react so strongly, however." He paused. "Is something troubling you?"

"No, I-" 

The cycleformer sighed and folded her arms, optics lowering to the floor. There was no way she could tell Optimus why she wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- accept this new mission. If he knew... She didn't want to think about what would happen if she was found out. She'd never be able to face the others again. The fact that this assignment would mean interacting with Jack was bad enough - she couldn't risk her secret being discovered. 

Primus, just when she'd almost managed to bury the regret, too...

"It's just... after what happened I feel like I can't face them. Any of them. They put their trust in us to protect them and I- and we failed. I know that all they'll be able to see if _I_ go there - one of the team who was supposed to be _guarding_ Airachnid - all they'll be able to see is one of the aliens that let Jasper be terrorised. That let Fowler and Sierra _die_." 

"Agent Fowler died honourably," Optimus insisted. "He was trying to save the girl from Airachnid. However, the humans have acknowledged that it was not our fault Airachnid got free. It was simply a fluke, albeit one with tragic consequences. They themselves have asked for reinforcements, and I believe it would be prudent to appoint you as team leader; given that you possess the necessary skills and have also had previous liaisons with the humans." 

He placed a servo on the femme's shoulder.

"Arcee, they will not hold you at fault. You will be accepted, should you choose to work with them." 

_They_ should _blame me,_ the femme thought bitterly. _If they knew..._

It was impossible for her to accept the mission - how was she supposed to face Jack, knowing what she did? Yet at the same time, if she turned it down questions would be asked. They'd find out the reason for her refusal, and the femme didn't want to think about what would happen after that.

"I'll have to think about it," she finally muttered, turning to leave without another word.

As she left the room a large, white mech hurried past her, looking deeply concerned.

"Skyfire, what's"-

"Can't talk now," he replied shortly. "You'll find out soon enough, I should think, but at the moment I really need to speak to Prime." 

Arcee watched him go, equal parts worried and intrigued. With all the shortages they had been suffering recently, the last thing the Autobots needed was further complications. Whatever it was, she hoped it could be resolved soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm starting to shift this monster onto ao3 too! Can't promise it'll all be done in one go, but hopefully things should be up to date by the time I start typing out new content.   
> To anyone who didn't see this thing over on FF.net: I have 10 chapters currently uploaded, so I'll be trying to import them manually since FF won't let me use the import tool. Hope any newcomers enjoy what they find, but I do have to warn everyone that new chapters probably won't be happening until June. Exams start soon for me, so I can't be typing out new updates if I want decent grades. :)


	3. Chapter Two: Insiders

"Autobots - your attention, please."

Arcee glanced up from where she was helping Bumblebee make repairs to his arm guns. She'd been keeping herself occupied with various tasks, mainly to avoid thinking about the decision she would eventually have to make. It hadn't helped much - her processor was swirling, and the knowledge of what she had done was weighing heavier on her conscience than ever before.

Once the room's occupants had ceased their various activities, Optimus spoke again.

"There has been a recent development in regards to our... allies, which I feel needs to be made known. Skyfire is better informed on the matter than myself, so I have asked him to address you."

On cue, the white shuttleformer stood up. Arcee straightened a little in her seat, interest piqued - this was probably what had had the scientist so rattled earlier.

He still looked worried now. Expression hovering somewhere between grave and apprehensive, the mech rebooted his vocalizer.

"I know you're all aware that we've been receiving aid from planets such as Velocitron and Athenia for quite some time now," he began. "But I'm afraid that - in the interests of the Autobot cause - you haven't exactly been given the whole picture. For a few years now, our biggest provider of resources has been... well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose it's been the Decepticons themselves."

"WHAT?" Ironhide roared, leaping to his pedes. His violent reaction drowned out Ratchet's splutter and the shouts that erupted around the room.

"Let me finish!" Skyfire insisted. "It's not what you think. I- we've been receiving supplies that have been... liberated from the Decepticons thanks to an inside contact. But that's not what needs to be discussed. The problem is that our contact has recently come under scrutiny, and it's unlikely that he'll be able to continue helping us. Prime and I have decided that you all need to be involved in figuring out how to get past this - our ally included."

"It'd help if we actually knew who this ally  _was_ ," Chromia piped up. "Be useful to be able to talk to him, too."

"Well, I can tell you, but you're not going to like it," Skyfire replied. "And as for speaking with him - he's ready to groundbridge here if you're willing. But... I'm not so sure that you will be."

He shot a glance in Arcee's direction at this and the femme frowned, puzzled at the concern in his optics.

"Why?" Smokescreen asked. "Who is he?"

Skyfire inhaled deeply.

"... It's Starscream."

This time it was Arcee's turn to jump to her pedes.

" _What?!_ "

 

* * *

 

The groundbridge portal materialised in a ripple of white and green, its stark light in the gloomy base throwing the emerging figure into sharp relief.

Of course, this simply made Starscream an even bigger target for the multitude of glares he was subjected to as he made his entrance. The seeker was visibly apprehensive; servos curled close to his chassis and wings lowered. His optics darted about furtively and Arcee noted that he visibly flinched upon catching Ironhide's glowering gaze.

_Pathetic._

Skyfire muttered something to Vos' Winglord (and the femme had suppress a snort of derisive mirth as she recalled the title). The fact that he was the go-between made sense now, as the two were known to have been friends before the war. Starscream nodded and cleared his vocalizer.

"Ahem... I assume that you've been told the basics of this...  _situation_ , so you're no doubt aware of the dilemma it presents"-

"Actually, we know next to nothing," Moonracer interjected, waving away the mech's affronted expression. "We've been told you were helping us, but you're not able to anymore. That's it."

"I say we just cut our losses and leave 'Scream here to sweat it out by himself," Wheeljack chipped in with a growl.

Starscream's indignation rounded on him to the accompaniment of a splutter.

"I was under the impression that you had  _already been informed_  that I'm currently providing the bulk of your resources! At no small risk to the safety of myself and my city, I can assure you!"

"Big deal," Bulkhead scowled. "Cut the bullscrap and start explaining, Starscream."

"Hmf. Well, as you're  _apparently_  aware"- he aimed a glare at Wheeljack -"I've been...  _liberating_  Decepticon supplies for your use for the past few stellar cycles. But I have reason to believe that Megatron now suspects my treachery"-

"Took him long enough," Sideswipe snorted, earning a scowl from the seeker.

"Yes, well," Starscream continued. "Thus far, I've managed to evade his spying efforts, and that's only made him more determined to find out what's going on. His latest plan is unsavoury to say the least." The mech sighed.

"He's trying to coerce me into bonding with one of his officers so that she can monitor me. It's evident that she only agreed because Megatron's decided I'm not long for this world. And before anyone makes a suggestion to the effect - refusal is out of the question. He  _will_ keep insisting until I agree to bond with her."

 _That_ got a reaction. Disbelieving murmurs filled the room - Moonracer's optics were wide and Ratchet was spluttering in shock.

"You can't be serious!" the medic burst out. "Spark bonds are  _not_ trivial matters - it's  _unthinkable_ to use them for such purposes!"

"Clearly not unthinkable, if Megatron has considered it," Starscream retorted snappishly.

"That just shows how low he's sunk," Smokescreen said, shaking his helm.

"Hm," Ratchet muttered. He turned a suspicious gaze on the seeker. "Or how vivid Starscream's imagination is."

"Ratchet," Optimus warned over the Winglord's indignant exclamation, approaching the medic. "Starscream is speaking the truth. Our contact in Iacon has since confirmed his claim." He turned to the assembled Autobots.

"We have brought Starscream here tonight to ask for your help. If he is discovered, it will greatly cripple the Autobot cause, and will also leave Vos vulnerable to Megatron's whims. Skyfire, Starscream and myself were unable to see a way around this that will allow things to continue as they are now. If anyone can think of anything, please step forward."

There was some stifled clanking and shuffling of pedes. Then Chromia spoke up.

"Surely... surely the only way to keep things going as they are would be if Starscream found a mate of his own volition? I can't see any other situation where Megatron would leave him alone."

"Oh, of course," Starscream snapped back. "Because that would be so simple with Cybertron in its current state! Who would I bond with, anyway - another Decepticon? Even a Neutral would expose me in a sparkbeat! They're all either loyal to, or terrified of, Megatron!"

Chromia's voice was low when she spoke next.

"What about an Autobot?"

There was an instant uproar.

"Aw, Pit no!" Ironhide exclaimed. "No way is  _he_ gettin' his filthy servos on any'a our femmes!"

" _Our femmes_ can give their own opinion if they want to, Ironhide," Chromia interrupted her mate. She turned to Optimus and Skyfire.

"I know I can't exactly speak for the others, as I'm already bonded," she continued. "But would that be an option? Or... a bond could always be faked, I suppose."

Starscream opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, looking incredibly awkward.

"Actually, I had previously suggested it," Skyfire answered. "But I was shouted down. It would just be stooping to Megatron's level, after all - especially as pretending is out of the question. If he's mad enough to think of this in the first place, he'd have no qualms about sending a medic in to check the bond's validity. "

"Would it be sinking to his level, though?" Firestar piped up. "I mean, if one of us  _did_ go through with it... sure, it'd be a sacrifice, but we'd be doing it to save Vos  _and_ the Autobots..."

She glanced at Prime as she said this.

"Firestar does make a valid point," the mech conceded to Skyfire."However, I myself refuse to allow such a thing unless Starscream  _and_ any chosen femme were both fully informed of what such an undertaking would entail."

"I can speak for myself, thank you!" Starscream burst out, leaning around Skyfire to glare at Optimus. "And I'm quite aware of what's involved!"

Said mech met the scowl with a level gaze.

"Very well, Starscream. Would you be willing to take this course of action, provided that a volunteer can be found?"

"I... yes," the seeker replied. "Much as I'm sure you'll all find it hard to believe, I will do anything to keep my city out of Megatron's servos."

"Optimus, are you sure this is wise?" Ratchet demanded. "Making a decision like  _this_  so quickly - it's beyond rash! If this works, the bond would almost certainly last for the rest of their natural lives! Unless you'd prefer them to go through the excruciating pain of severing it?"

"It's a better alternative to having Vos fall to the Decepticons, though, isn't it?" Firestar retorted. "And it'd prevent us from losing one of our few assets in this war. Besides, we don't even know if anyone will volunteer." She shot Starscream a dirty look. "I personally doubt it."

Ratchet scowled at her, but fell silent. Firestar was the only one on the base who could shut the medic up at times, but her hold over him was unsurprising given that the two had been involved in an on/off relationship-slash-bitching contest since near the start of the war. Ratchet's time on Earth meant nothing - Firestar had simply picked up where they'd left off and was maintaining her winning streak in the latter.

Nobody really wanted to enquire as to who was 'winning' the former.

Cranky partner duly silenced, Firestar turned to Skyfire.

"You must have had someone in mind when you suggested that, though?"

The mech nodded, though even he looked a little skeptical.

"I thought perhaps... Moonracer?"

The mint-green femme glanced up at that, faceplates resembling those of a petrorabbit in the proverbial headlights.

"W-what?" she stammered, optics darting uneasily to Starscream. The seeker refused to meet her gaze.

"You shouldn't consider it an obligation," Skyfire hastened to add. "It's just that... well... there aren't many femmes on the base..."

A covert glance was flicked at Arcee, but he immediately looked away again. The cycleformer had seen, however, and she knew why he'd turned to her. Besides Moonracer, she was the only femme not involved with anyone. But nobody was going to ask her to even consider volunteering - not after Cliffjumper. She was thankful for that, though it did put poor Moonie in a distinctly awkward situation.

"... But we can send out a call for others. You're by no means required to agree - quite the opposite."

"No," Moonracer cut in. "No, I-I'll do it, if Starscream agrees..."

Her voice was shaking. Arcee could hear the tremor colouring her words from across the room, and as the blue femme watched, the sniper shot a panicked look around the assembled Autobots. Her gaze fixed on Perceptor for a fraction of a second before shying away again.

That was when Chromia's earlier comment clicked. She'd seen Moonracer behaving oddly around the scientist before - nervous glances when they passed him in the corridor; stumbling words as the sniper descended into uncharacteristc shyness; and now that all made a little more sense.

"Moonracer, you don't have to do this!" she blurted out suddenly. "There's got to be another way around it."

_You don't have to throw away your chance with the mech you love for Starscream; for the Autobot cause._

"You know there's not, 'Cee," the green femme replied. "If I don't, then Vos will fall and the Autobots will be massively set back." There was an unspoken message in her optics, too. She knew that Arcee had figured it out.

_It's worth the sacrifice._

The worst part was that Arcee knew Moonracer was right. If they  _did_  send out a wider call it was obvious that nobody would answer, even considering what it would do for the Autobots. No femme would bind themselves to a mech who had been one of their most ruthless opponents for millennia, based purely on a statement that he was now an ally. No matter that that statement would be issued by the Prime himself. And if, by some miracle, someone actually stepped forward, it would be too late. Megatron would already have set his plan in motion, and Starscream would be unable to back out. They didn't have time to search for alternate solutions. This was their only option and they all knew it, even if Arcee suspected that many of the room's occupants would rather swear fealty to Unicron than admit to such a thing.

Even so, she couldn't just sit by and watch Moonracer -  _Moonie_ , who'd been like a sister to her during the time they'd served under Elita One - throw away her spark. Not when it was obvious she desired a completely different mech to the one she was about to promise herself to...

A crazy and wholly repugnant idea was crawling its way into Arcee's CPU. She didn't want to acknowledge it. The femme would've been perfectly happy to chain it up, stick it in a cage, and drop it into the darkest corner of her processor; never to lift its ugly head again. However, it was resisting her efforts to do so with much zeal and repeated protests.

If Moonracer was prepared give up this much for the Autobot cause...

Once again, her thoughts drifted back to the assignment on Earth. She'd initially been caught between a rock and a hard place, as the humans might say, but now that repulsive little whisper of an idea had thrown a third location into the mix. A path that, while highly undesirable, might just turn out to be her escape route. Of course she would still be hounded by ghosts and regrets, but they'd be ones brought about as a result of another's actions - not her own. And right now, given her other options, that honestly seemed preferable.

Would she even be able to  _face_  Jack? Or explain to the others if she backed out without a reason? If  _she_  could barely live with herself, how would anyone else be able to?

The humans would lose all trust in her - all trust in the Autobots, even.

Grimly, she realised that the idea was more of a blessed curse.

"I'll do it."

Those three words hung in the air like dust after an explosion. They echoed around the room, bounced off the walls, and managed to fully immobilise everyone. Not even Arcee could believe that they had just been spoken, and Starscream was openly gaping at her.

Eventually, Chromia found her voice.

"Arcee, you can't be serious! This is  _Starscream_ we're talking about!"

The mech in question was apparently too startled to even think about looking affronted.

"This is the mech who killed Cliffjumper!" Chromia continued. "You're the  _last_  femme who should be thinking about bonding with him. Are you really going to throw away your life like this - tying yourself to someone who  _murdered_  your partner?"

_It's a better alternative to facing the humans and admitting that **I**  all but murdered two of them!_

Outwardly, Arcee remained utterly silent.

Moonracer was watching her sadly, but there was gratitude mixed into her gaze. The two-wheeler nodded towards Perceptor.

_Just make the most of this chance._

The green femme dipped her helm once, imperceptibly, before turning to look at the scientist. Arcee sighed as she addressed Chromia.

"It's no more of a sacrifice than Moonracer was going to make," the cycleformer insisted, even though she knew fully that her commitment to this would require giving up far more than the other femme had. "Like Firestar said - this is going to help the Autobots  _and_  Vos. I think that's worth putting aside personal grievances."

"This is more than a  _personal grievance_  you're putting aside!" Ratchet interjected incredulously. "Arcee, he murdered Cliffjumper in cold energon! You  _can't_  bind yourself to him like this!"

"Chromia's already made that point," the femme snapped. "And if we insisted that nobody could do this if Starscream wronged them in the past, there's no way we'd be able to stop Megatron from going ahead with his plan!"

She met Starscream's optics at last, mouth set in a grim line. The seeker countered this with an impassive stare of his own, but Arcee noticed that he bowed his helm slightly, eyes still on her. When she refused to release the mech from her gaze he rebooted his vocalizer softly and turned away.

Still keeping her optics locked on him, she continued slowly.

"I don't think there's a single femme in the entire army who'd want to do this. You've killed so many of us, and hurt even more. But we risk losing everything if someone doesn't. I'm not doing this for you, or so you can keep your city - honestly, I think that Vos would do far better without you in charge. I'm doing it for my family."

"Starscream?" Skyfire piped up hesitantly. "Are you still willing to go ahead with this? I mean"-

"I stand by what I said before," the Winglord sighed. "If she's doing this for her...  _family_ , then I'm doing it for my city and to"-

He cut himself off, earning more than a few curious glances.

"Arcee, I'm going to say it one more time," Ratchet pleaded. "You can't go ahead with this! You haven't the faintest idea of the repercussions"-

"I'm sure you're going to make me more than aware of them, Ratchet," the femme interrupted. "And I'll still stand by my decision."

_It's a better alternative to Earth, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My schedule's finally freed itself up at a point that coincides with the laptop actually behaving, so have some more backlog!


	4. Chapter Three: Masquerade

"You do realise that I'm never going to be okay with you doing this."

"That's okay, Chromia. I'm never going to need your opinion on it."

The words had leapt from Arcee's mouth before she could hold them back, and she instantly regretted them. At least Chromia had accepted her decision - it was abundantly clear that she by no means liked it, but she wasn't actively trying to discourage the two-wheeler anymore.

As the older femme's expression hardened, Arcee groaned and pressed a servo to her forehelm.

"Ah, Primus, I didn't mean that. Sorry. But the entire base's refused to get off my back about it and"-

Chromia's face mellowed out into a wan smile and she wrapped an arm around the cycleformer's shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Yeah, I'm not even going to pretend that I know how you feel. This whole thing's way too bizarre for that. But if you'd let me finish what I was saying... I'm never going to be okay with it, but I won't question your reasons, either - unless I think you're damaging yourself. If that happens, I swear I will  _make_ you listen until you get the frag out."

She received a smile for that, and grinned in return, releasing Arcee with a hint of a shake.

"Just so you know where you stand."

And the younger femme was glad to be standing where she was in terms of Chromia. Her decision had been accepted by one of the people she cared about most - if not  _the_ most. All the others she'd been relying on to support her, hadn't: Ratchet had done his level best to protest before Firestar silenced him, and Bulkhead had surprised everyone after the meeting by being one of the more vocal objectors. However, Arcee had made it plain from the beginning that she was sticking with her choice, and those who disagreed with her had since learned at the very least not to say anything to her face.

Except Chromia. But then, that had been less about telling Arcee she was wrong to her face, and more about telling her what she knew the two-wheeler needed to hear. Chromia had always had an acute sense for that. It came from the old mentoring arrangement they'd held when Arcee was much younger - despite official records, the cycleformer hadn't been trained entirely by Elita One. In fact, she hadn't been trained by her at all once a realisation was reached that she gelled better with the unit's battle-hardened second-in-command. (Said realisation had undergone a second stage when Elita took Moonracer on instead and discovered a well-suited protégé of her own). Chromia's relationship with her was almost motherly, and Arcee was infinitely grateful for the support she received because of this.

"I wish everyone else'd follow your example, to be honest. I've made my decision and I'm sticking with it, but they don't seem to realise that."

"Even so, 'Cee... I can't help but feel like you're regretting this already."

Arcee huffed and halted her progress down the corridor to lean against a wall. She ran a servo over the back of her helm, squeezing her optics shut, and Chromia mimicked her posture as she waited for a reply.

"It's either this or going to Earth," the younger femme said eventually, voice low and gaze averted. "And I  _can't_  face Jack after what happened there."

"Earth's still preferable, though, surely?" Chromia insisted. "Arcee, a  _bonding_  is not something to take lightly, and I don't see how it's the better option compared to some misguided guilt! You'll be out of combat duty for good if you do this, and"-

"Chromia, if I  _don't_  do this, there might not  _be_  any combat duty to miss out on. Besides, it's better than forcing Moonie into it when she clearly wants somebody else."

Arcee tried to ignore the slightly wounded look that her friend wore as she stood stranded in the middle of the passage. Avoiding Chromia's gaze, she continued on her progress towards the medbay. She had an appointment with Ratchet to keep - one that would determine the alias she could quite possibly be using for the rest of her life.

The femme wished she could say that self-sacrificing motives had been the biggest factor in choosing to don such a disguise.

 

* * *

 

"How do you feel about being called Nightracer?"

Ratchet turned to the side, giving Arcee a clearer view of the screen that displayed details of her new identity.

"Sounds... good, I guess? But isn't that a name better suited to a grounder than a seeker?"

The medic replied with a barely-suppressed optic roll.

"Well, Starscream's already given his opinion and he says that with the right backstory we could make it work. You'll probably end up switching alt-modes anyway, whether we use his idea or not. Speaking of which... he was supposed to be here already to discuss this further."

The femme rankled a little at that. Starscream had been consulted before she had on the matter of  _her_  disguise? And on top of that - nobody had thought to inform her of the planned visit!

Dwelling on that would only cause problems for the moment, however. Making an effort to cast such thoughts aside, Arcee focused back on the monitor.

"A Neutral, sparked in Praxus... original bearer of the name was offlined before the start of the war"-

"We needed someone who'd been recorded as an existing Cybertronian," Ratchet interjected. "Her files aren't particularly prominent, so with any luck we'll be able to edit them without attracting attention."

"Right. She looks like she's got a pretty similar frame to me... oh, and she originated from the upper castes. Says here that she renounced any allegiance once the factions started forming."

"Think you can pull that off?" a new voice enquired, as a red-chevroned helm appeared around the doorframe. The mech's black and white body soon followed its progress and Prowl approached the pair, doorwings held aloft.

"Well, I'll probably need your help nailing a Praxian accent," the femme replied. "But other than that... Yeah, it shouldn't be too difficult."

Arcee was fairly impressed with herself, she had to admit. Here she was, discussing an identity she could well end up wearing for a good majority, if not all, of her life; one that would restrict her and change her entire role in the war. Yet, she was managing to project an air of nonchalance even as she contemplated these alterations.

The two-wheeler felt a twinge of relief that she had this facade to hide her unease behind. She just hoped it would still hold if and when Starscream showed up.

Dragging herself back to the matter at hand, Arcee addressed Prowl.

"I'm guessing that I won't have much time to get into the role. We'll want me in Vos as soon as possible, won't we?" A nod of affirmation from the mech and she continued, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Any chance that you were hoping to - what is it the humans said? Kill two cats with one stick?" This time she received a confused helm-tilt, and shook her own dismissively. "Doesn't matter. The point is that I'd be in the perfect position to gather intel on the 'Cons. Does Prime want me to take on any other assignments?"  _Any other assignments that would actually make me feel useful?_

"Starscream and Prime have both agreed it could jeopardise the mission if you attempted to spy on the Decepticons," Prowl answered. "Starscream's under enough scrutiny as it is."

Once again, Arcee felt a stab of annoyance that Starscream had been consulted without her. She found this irritation mounting, and snapped out a retort.

"And why couldn't Starscream have told me that himself?! We're supposed to be  _bonded_  in the near future! It's not exactly off to a good start if even basic communication is beyond him, is it?"

"Actually," came a snide voice from the doorway, "I think you'll find that there's a simple reason for my  _lack of communication_. This is the first time there's been enough of a lull in my duties to allow a meeting." Starscream tapped a tapered pede on the floor. "Running a city is no mean feat, let me assure you."

_Look what the retrorat dragged in_ , Arcee thought to herself. She felt her mouth twisting and immediately strove for a more neutral expression. The seeker wouldn't have the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.

She was perfectly content allowing herself to bite back, however.

"Yeah, I'm sure sitting in that tower whilst your subjects waste away must be so taxing for you, Starscream."

Anger flashed across the mech's faceplates for the briefest second before melting away. The look that replaced it was the very definition of supercilious.

"I can assure you, it's further from that than you could imagine. But then again, I wouldn't expect a  _two-wheeler_  to understand."

That he spat those words like an insult was enough for Arcee to leap at him and claw his wings. Thankfully, Ratchet stepped in to defuse the situation a little before the assault could come to pass.

"With what we have planned, she won't be a two-wheeler for much longer."

The femme watched with darkened optics, insults drifting through her processor in a bid to sate her anger. Starscream hadn't even been particularly offensive (she knew he was capable of far worse), but she was still riled up! Multiple insistences that some of it was due to the pressure from her comrades didn't offer much reassurance. The seeker was getting to her. She needed more control, or things would just end up in a bigger mess than they already were.

Ratchet was addressing Starscream now. Determined not to miss anything, Arcee focused back on the conversation.

"I was just going over the Nightracer alias for her approval - care to fill your future bondmate in on the matter?"

Starscream's wings twitched a little at that, and the femme felt a small stab of satisfaction. The medic's choice of words had certainly been deliberate.

He recovered far to quickly for her liking, however.

"As it happens, I have a sufficient explanation for the ungainliness you'll doubtless exhibit as a flier," he informed her, with more than a hint of derision in his voice. "Merely taking on a flight-based alt mode won't fool anyone - we'd be best to put it about that you've changed specifically to fulfil the contract between us." His optics, full of a critical glare, flicked briefly to her winglets. "It'll endear you to my fellow seekers somewhat, at any rate."

Ratchet shot him a warning glance and, taking the hint, the Winglord's tone grew less insulting.

"I think I have a story that could explain the alt-mode change. As one of the higher-caste members before the war, I travelled a fair way around Cybertron. It wouldn't have been too outlandish for me to have befriended a femme from Praxus - or to call upon that friend when presented with a situation such as this. I doubt it will surprise Megatron that 'Nightracer' is making the change. He probably recruited this... Slipstream, I think her name was... because she was a seeker; rather than persuading me to bond with, for example, Airachnid."

Arcee didn't miss the shudder that passed through him as he spoke that name. She recalled a moment, years ago, out in a dusty, arid canyon, and could almost sympathise.

Then she remembered what else had transpired that day.

"Yeah, the thought of being bonded to her must be awful, after what she did to you. She took your post, didn't she? That has to be worse than  _losing a partner to her!_ "

"Arcee"- Prowl began warningly. She whirled to face him, scowling, before catching the look in his optics.

Even as she slumped, however, Starscream retaliated.

"Oh? From what I hear, her body count of your companions stands a little higher. You really are terrible at protecting them, aren't you?"

Arcee felt her spark twist as he sneered. Lips pressed in a thin line, she didn't even bother to reply, shoving her way past the seeker and storming from the room.

Moonracer, carrying a crate down the passage, gave a start and grabbed her friend's arm.

"'Cee? What's wrong? Is it something to do with Starscream? I heard he showed up just now..."

The sharpshooter inhaled deeply.

"You know, you don't have to do this. I could always"-

The earnest optics and their concern were too much for Arcee. Disengaging herself roughly, she took off at a run.

 

* * *

 

Starscream hadn't wanted to go in search of the two-wheeler - far from it, in fact. He couldn't be less concerned as to her whereabouts. But everyone had started getting worried when she didn't show up for two megacycles, and given the frankly terrifying glares he was receiving from the oldest Autobot femme, he deemed it to be for the best.

Unfortunately, his judgement was flawed in certain respects. The seeker wasn't all that certain that 'for the best' constituted getting hopelessly lost. True, the Autobot base was small, but it was full of narrow passages that easily disorientated the flier. He was determined to stay the course, however. Not least because he feared the consequences if he showed up back in the main room without even news of their comrade.

It was mostly a sense of wariness towards Chromia (and her trigger-happy mate) that kept him diligently following Arcee's energy signature. Eventually, the mech found himself in front of a pitted and tarnished berthroom door.

Hopefully, this wouldn't be a waste of time. He was only seventy percent sure that he could find his way back.

Steeling himself, he knocked quietly before activating the door controls; peering into the semi-darkness with a slight sense of apprehension.

"... Arcee?"

_Clunk._

_"OUCH!_ "

Only to receive a datapad to the helm by way of welcome.

"Slag off, Starscream!" the two-wheeler snapped, glaring at him from where she sat crosslegged on the berth.

"That's no way to treat your  _future bondmate_ ," the mech retorted, advancing through the doorway against his better judgement.

"Don't remind me!"

Her own reply was almost a snarl as she folded her arms across her knees and turned away.

"You're the last mech I want to see right now."

"Believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual," Starscream muttered. "I'm certainly not here out of any  _desire_  to talk, I can assure you."

Then do us both a favour, and  _leave_."

"Actually, I don't think I will."

The seeker crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, optics narrow. There was an air of irritability about him, but also one of knowing - Arcee could tell he had guessed at her ulterior motives.

"You've made it abundantly clear that this entire agreement is one of the worst decisions you ever made - and quite frankly, I'm inclined to agree with you. So why,  _pray tell_ , haven't you abandoned it? Surely your precious Autobot cause can't mean that much to you?"

"Why in the Pit would I tell  _you_?" the femme demanded, glaring at him incredulously.

Starscream quirked an optic ridge, idly inspecting the claws of one servo.

"If you persist in your stubbornness, we're going to be bonded in the near future, which means that I'll find out anyway," he replied, not deigning to make eye contact. "Wouldn't it be more prudent to tell me now and have done with it? It's bound to be far easier for the both of us that way."

Arcee merely scowled.

"Oh come now, surely it's not that dark of a secret"-

"If you really want to know, it's because you're the lesser of two evils right now, okay?" she snapped suddenly.

That brought him up short. Starscream blinked, mouth slightly agape in surprise before it split into a broad smirk.

"Well, if that isn't a first... What's so terrible that you'd choose me as the preferable option?"

The femme had turned to stare at the wall.

"... A mission to Earth."

The seeker burst out laughing.

"You're joking!  _That's_  the horrific alternating to taking  _me_  as a bondmate? What's the matter - did you have a fight with that human pet of yours? Was the female that Airachnid killed his mate?"

The look he received in reply would have cleaved him neatly in two, had it possessed physical form. As it was, the mech should have heeded the warning it carried.

Being Starscream, he ignored it.

"You know, I'd almost go as far as to say that's an insult to Cliffjumper's memory"-

His next words were choked off by the servos that closed around his neck. Arcee had all but flown across the room to pin him to the wall; a wild look in her optics and a cry on snarling lips.

"I caused the deaths of both of them!" she yelled, exposing one of her arm blades to replace the hands at his throat. "Agent Fowler and Sierra -  _I was the reason they died!_ "

Starscream tittered nervously.

"Well, I have to say... I didn't expect you to take that comment in the medbay to spark quite so much..."  _Scrap, scrap, **scrap** , he was thoroughly trapped by an angry femme in a base full of Autobots; too far away from everyone else to call for help in any case-_

"Do you really think it had  _that_  big an effect on me?! I  _am_  responsible for their deaths! It's not some twisted form of guilt!"

I can't go back, knowing what I've done. You think I can face Jack? I'd rather be bonded to you ten times over than admit to him what I did!"

The mech's intakes were cycling heavily in his panic; optics frozen to her blade. Shakily, they traced the sharp curve that sat against his neck cables, before drifting up Arcee's arm and coming to rest on her face.

He flinched from the look of utter revulsion that she wore with a whimper.

There was a cold bite at Starscream's throat before the femme withdrew her weapon, dropping her arm to subspace it and turning without glancing back.

"If you think I'm going back after that..."

Still panting slightly, the seeker struggled to regain his balance against the wall (along with his composure).

"Hn... well,  _I_  certainly can't see it, but expect that your moral code's somewhat more intact than mine." He rebooted his vocaliser with a rather raspy sound. "Either way, I suppose you have me convinced. Though... are you  _certain_  that this is the best option for you?"

"D'you want to save your city or not?" Arcee's tone was distinctly weary as she returned to the berth and stretched out, still barely acknowledging him. "And you're not the only one able to deduce things. You've got some reason other than Vos for going through with this, too, but unlike you I couldn't care less what that is."

Starscream gave an exclamation of disbelief, and she finally turned to face him.

"You were about to give another reason on the first night, weren't you? Like I said - I don't care what that is, so long as it doesn't threaten any of us. But stop pretending that I'm the only one hiding things."

The femme sighed.

"Look, let's just admit that we both want this for different reasons, even if the means to the end aren't exactly pleasant, and try to make this work for both our sakes. Alright?"

She extended a servo from where she lay on the berth and Starscream stepped forward gingerly to shake it.

"That's... a step in the right direction, I suppose," he agreed.

"Good. Now get the frag out of here - I want to recharge."


	5. Chapter Four: First Flight

When Arcee emerged from the medbay next, she was quite literally a different femme. Where mere ornamental kibble had once been, full-sized wings now rose from her back, angular and sweeping. Newly-purple optics and the weight of added protomatter dispersed across her frame were less noticeable, but still felt, and on top of this she was now garbed in gunmetal grey; her pink highlights replaced by a dusky lavender shade that put her uncomfortably in mind of a Decepticon.

The former motorcycle took several unsteady steps down the corridor before wobbling and grasping at the wall as her wings threatened to overbalance her.

Ratchet appeared in the medbay entrance, optics narrowed critically.

"You're going to need a lot of practise getting used to that frame before we can so much as get you in the air," he warned. "Looking at you now, I think it's for the best that you opted out of the full spark transfer."

"What difference would that have made?" the femme demanded a little irritably, embarrassed at her display of ungainliness.

"Well for a start, you'd be even more clumsy and awkward than this," the medic replied, gesturing to her before making a shushing noise as she started to protest. "Moving your spark to a completely different frame would make you incredibly disorientated, especially if it were significantly bulkier - or taller, as yours would be if you took on the guise of an actual seeker."

"I guess settling for a new paintjob and alt was for the best then", Arcee mused, holding out her arms to inspect the dubiously purple colouring at her wrists.

"And the optic filters," Ratchet added, indicating her eyes. "Though you'd best hope that any sparkling of yours takes after Starscream, as it'd still inherit the blue otherwise."

"Ugh, don't even joke about that!" the femme groaned, pressing the heel of a servo to her helm.

"It's no joke," the mech said, tone still serious. "He's going to be your bondmate. There is a chance, however slim it may be, that one or the other of you could end up sparked. And you'd have a job explaining it away if such a sparkling ended up with typically Autobot optics."

Arcee bit her lip.

"We might want to replace them before I... leave, then, instead of just having filters."

She didn't like contemplating  _any_  aspect of that possibility. However, the newly-formatted seeker could at least appreciate it would be better to prepare, rather than suffer a surprise later on.

Ratchet hummed in agreement, then apparently decided she'd wasted enough of his time and turned to vanish inside the medbay again. He paused in the doorway, however.

"By the way, Starscream's stopping here later to help you adjust to your new frame." He frowned at the look Arcee shot him. "Don't give me that - it's your fault if you chose to interpret it that way! He's just going to teach you how to... well, how to actually keep your balance, for one thing. And the basics of flight, I suppose. Things that we can't exactly help you with, given that there's no other seekers on the premesies."

Without waiting for a reply, he headed back into the depths of his domain. Arcee stood in the passage silently cursing her own processor - as if lessons from Starscream wouldn't be awkward enough already, she now had some very much unwanted images in her head thanks to Ratchet's comment.

Of course, the worst part was knowing that some of those thoughts were almost certain to become reality, eventually.

 

* * *

 

"For Primus' sake, femme! With a posture as awkward as that it's a wonder you're still standing!"

"This is how I normally walk!" Arcee retorted defensively, crossing her arms with a scowl. The effect was ruined somewhat as her wings threw her off balance and she staggered to regain her footing. Starscream smirked and her glare deepened.

"Well, it's evidently not how you should be walking now that you're a seeker - especially if you actually want to be able to walk straight."

Whoops - there went her processor again. Idly, the femme wondered whether bashing her helm on the wall a few times would persuade such thoughts to make themselves scarce. At the very least it'd concuss her and get her out of this 'lesson'.

Then again, she didn't think that'd go over too well with Starscream.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

Arcee managed to snap out of her current train of thought at the demand. "What?"

The mech gave an exasperated huff.

"I  _said_  that you need to be leaning forwards far more than you are now, to compensate for the weight of your wings," he bit out, brow furrowing. "Though I must admit, you're even more unsteady on your pedes than I would have expected. What happened to the supposed  _agility_  of the Autobots' notorious scout?"

"What  _happened_  was a frame upgrade that's completely thrown off my weight distribution!" she growled. "Ratchet had to add protomatter to my help with the upgrade, and most of it's in my legs. Not all of us are experts at walking in heels, 'Scream!"

That got a reaction. The Winglord gave an indignant splutter, clearly holding back a heated retort.

"Hmph. I'm aware of the connotations of that, I think you'll find, and I don't particularly appreciate it."

"Maybe  _I_  don't appreciate you being this critical, when I've not even had my wings for a solar cycle!" Arcee hissed.

Dismissing her complaint with a flick of his wings, Starscream strutted past the femme. (It  _was_  strutting, she thought to herself, and he was deliberately showing off how coordinated he was in comparison to her).

"I'm afraid you don't have the luxury of time to get to grips with this," he informed her. "The sooner we make our...  _agreement_  public, the sooner we'll have Megatron off our backs - for a while, at least."

"Off  _your_  back, you mean. We're doing this mainly for you and your damned city."

"Would you prefer that I was unable to provide your army with resources?" the mech snapped in retort. Sneering, he held out a servo.

Arcee eyed it suspiciously, optics narrowing.

"Oh, for - look, you evidently can't stay upright by yourself. I'm merely offering assistance."

Still frowning, the femme gingerly accepted his hand.

"Lean on my arm a little more," he commanded. "It won't be any help unless I'm taking some of your wings' weight."

Much as she was loath to admit it, having Starscream supporting her instantly made things easier. She found herself hunching over slightly, shuffling in her steps as she tried to re-balance her wings.

"Hm. That's a little better in terms of your posture, I suppose. But you need to be curling your back more - at least to begin with, until you're used to the weight."

Arcee obliged grudgingly. This felt...  _odd_ , if not awkward; she might have been used to moving with a less-than-ramrod stance from her days as a scout, but having the added weight at her back was ridiculously cumbersome. She missed her winglets acutely.

"At least this explains why you look so hunched up," she remarked, stumbling slightly. Starscream huffed irritably - whether at the comment or her blunder, Arcee couldn't tell.

"That's because of my lighter build, you'll doubtless find. Seekers made for speed always look more awkward on the ground than in the air."

Arcee raised her eyebrows. Was that actually an admission to being less-than-perfect?

Apparently, he caught the look.

"Consider yourself lucky that I have such a build - it's certainly made it easier for me to assist  _you_."

"Of course. Because it's not as if you'd be able to support me so much more easily if you actually had some weight on your frame."

"Who said I was supporting you?" A smirk.

The femme took two steps forward before she realised she was clutching at air. Starscream had apparently wormed his way out of her grip as they spoke, and she was continuing on her progress down the corridor unassisted.

In an ideal world, Arcee would have made an effort to hide a hint of grudging admiration for this ploy. She would then have stalked off to allow herself a few Starscream-less moments. Unfortunately, as it was the shock of being unsupported overbalanced her, and she crashed to the floor in an ungainly heap. An arm somehow managed to tangle itself up in the seeker on the way down, dragging him with her to the accompaniment of a rather unmechly shriek.

Arcee lay dazed on the floor as she recovered from the impact - until she became aware of Starscream's weight crushing her.

The Winglord gave a squawk as a knee was driven viciously into his abdomen; his assailant doing her level best to shift him. He reeled back at this, and Arcee took the opportunity to squirm away and stagger to her pedes. Leaning against the wall in an attempt to steady herself, she heard a groan from the seeker.

"Well, I must say," he muttered, dusting himself off grumpily, "I'd always thought Autobots showed a bit more restraint. Surely it's the done thing to wait until  _after_  the ceremony before throwing yourself onto your bondmate?"

He wasn't going to get away with that one, and Arcee realised she could easily turn it around.

"The way I saw it, you threw yourself at me, 'Scream. There something you're not telling me about this arrangement?"

His indignant growl made up for her embarrassingly shaky progress as she continued down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

Flying, surprisingly, came more easily than walking in her new frame. It wasn't without its difficulties, though - taking off had been more of a challenge than she'd care to admit, and Arcee felt her wings shaking dangerously as she passed over an air current.

She received a vaguely exasperated ping from Starscream as the mech attempted to guide her through steering. A distinctly irritated one was sent back in return - did he  _really_  expect her to get this first time? Without waiting for a reply, she turned her attention to regaining control of her alt-mode, as per the mech's transmitted instructions. Something to do with ailerons; she had yet to get her processor around the terminology.

Balance seemed to be the thing she struggled most with in both modes. She felt horribly unsettled by this, given how much she'd relied on being sure-footed and confident in her movements prior to the change. No matter the incredible speed and spectacular views that flight afforded her, Arcee knew that she'd trade in her wings in a sparkbeat.

Besides, it wasn't as though she was in any position to appreciate the scenery. They'd bridged out to the Manganese Mountains to avoid being spotted, and Arcee had initially been looking forward to it. However, apart from a first glimpse of angular peaks before takeoff, all she had seen so far were jagged blurs of outcrops and spires as she sped over the landscape, spurred on by her instructor's incessant commands.

Speaking of outcrops...

The femme felt her spark jolt in its casing as she saw where Starscream was now leading her: between two looming cliff faces that held barely a wingspan of space in the middle.

::  _Are you out of your mind?!_ :: she screamed at him over the commline. ::  _I'm nowhere near skilled enough to fly through there!_ ::

They'd worked on dodging obstacles earlier, but never one as treacherous as this.

::  _I'll be the judge of what you're capable of_ :: Starscream snapped back. ::  _And I say that you can manage this, provided you **concentrate**._ ::

They were too deep into the valley for her to turn and fly out. Walls of cragged rock and rusted metal pressed in on either side, and Arcee prayed she wouldn't pick up the seekers' infamous claustrophobia to go with her flight nerves.

Starscream's tailfins were just visible in the blur ahead, almost eclipsed by the glare of his engine. Mapping the angle of the faint shape of his wings, the Autobot strove to mimic his position as closely as possible.

The twin outcrop pings suddenly reared up, almost directly ahead of her. Starscream put on a burst of speed and zoomed between them effortlessly, leaving Arcee frantically trying to still her shaking wings as she followed. Wind currents shrieked along the passage and over her frame, and the world was a swirling mess of distorted greys and browns.

A violet-edged wing clipped the side of the ravine and Arcee spiralled.

She didn't care that she was screaming, her terror warped by the wind. All she cared about, as she plummeted in shuddering circles, was remembering the emergency landing routine drilled into her earlier. Squashing her fear as best she could, the femme activated transformation protocols. She assumed biped mode in an explosion of limbs, splayed in a desperate attempt to slow her down.

Arcee was hurtling towards the ground, vaguely aware of the mech in a nosedive above her. Fighting against buffeting air resistance, she curled inwards as much as possible, steeling herself.

The femme hit the uneven floor and rolled. Her frame bounced limply off several upward-jutting rocks, and an agonising slash flared over her wing as it scraped on a spike of metal. She skidded to a stop against a cliff face, limbs akimbo and groaning her displeasure.

The roar of jet engines and a whirring transformation cog signalled Starscream landing behind her.

"Frag you," the femme grunted without any real energy. "Frag you to the  _Pit_. And don't come back until Unicron's spike's permanently stuffed up your exhaust."

"At least you executed landing procedure reasonably well," the seeker remarked, apparently choosing to ignore her command. "The damage could have been far worse."

Disbelievingly, Arcee attempted to prop herself up on an elbow.

" _Far worse?_  Starscream, I could've gone a few rounds with a Kaon gladiator and ended up with fewer injuries."

"You'll only be saying that because of the pain in your wing," Starscream replied, kneeling beside her and turning his attention to the injured appendage. After a few nanokliks of examination, he tutted.

"I'll admit that you were unfortunate - it's scraped right near the joint, where it'll be most painful. As far as I can see it only just caught an energon line. It's leaking, but not severely."

"Just do what you can," Arcee hissed, her helm lolling backwards. "As long as it gets rid of some of the pain."

"Well, there's not much in the supplies your medic sent us with that'll help, but I can at least stop the bleeding."

As he began rooting through the medical kit, Arcee groaned and closed her optics.

"What in Primus' name were you thinking?!" she demanded as he prodded experimentally at the wound. "I won't be able to fly for days now - you've just massively set back this whole mission!"

"It's just a scratch, it'll hardly keep you grounded that long!" the mech protested hotly. "And truth be told, I was  _thinking_  that you were competent enough to execute that manoeuvre! Now, I'm just thinking that I made a gross misjudgement."

"Yeah, you fragging well did! I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm crap at flying, Starscream. This is my first slagging time in the air. But if you keep pulling stunts like that then I'll never improve - I'll just be  _injured and stuck on the ground all the time_!"

"If you  _must_  know," Starscream told her, sneering, "I knew you'd have to perform an emergency landing. It was a test to see how you coped under perilous circumstances."

"Wha- you  _knew_  I was going to crash?!"

"Not quite as spectacularly as you did, granted, but yes."

Arcee sat up and slapped him across the faceplates.

He recoiled with a yelp; at the same time, the femme's wing gave a stab of pain and she sank back to the floor.

"How am I supposed to trust you as my bondmate if you're going to lead me into situations like that?" she demanded of him. "I know there's nothing personal involved in this, but you could at least make an effort not to  _kill me_."

"As far as I recall, you never seemed as bothered about danger back on Earth," Starscream answered, grappling with a length of medical mesh.

"Back on Earth, it was basically my job to get in and out of danger - it was the same for all of us, and you  _know_  that. Here, I need to keep reasonably safe so we can launch this plan before Megatron gets in the way. Stop making slagging excuses."

The mech shot her an offended glare, but she caught his gaze and stared him down. He was the first to blink, bending to busy himself applying the mesh to her wing.

"... Sorry."

His apology was barely audible and almost lost in the sound of the wind, but it had been there. Arcee wasn't sure if it was for his mistake, or the attempted avoidance of blame; though knowing the mech's ego, it was likely the latter, lesser offence.

Regardless, it was something.

"Try not to get me killed next time. It's not exactly gonna help if Nightracer disappears before she even sets foot in Vos."

"I'll bear that in mind," the seeker replied, tying off the makeshift bandage and rising to his pedes. He extended a servo, pulling Arcee upright none-too-gently. "Our priority for now, though, should be getting you back to your medic. I'm afraid I won't be able to drop you off personally - I've been away from the citadel too long as it is."

"Admit it," the femme taunted as she began a slow progress out of the ravine. "You're just terrified of Ratchet's reaction to this."

Arcee ignored his indignant protests in favour of calling up a groundbridge.


	6. Chapter Five: Wayfaring Stranger

Flight lessons passed a little more smoothly from then on, although they weren't without their issues. Navigating turbulent air still gave Arcee trouble long after the first session - which she felt was only to be expected no matter how Starscream groused. More complex manoeuvres and tricks would be beyond her for a good while, but eventually the mech decided that she was skilled enough in the basics (and particularly adept at emergency landings) for her crash course in flying to come to an end.

'Crash course' being unfortunately a bit too literal in this case.

Soon after, Prowl pronounced 'Nightracer' to be sufficiently developed for use as an alias, and plans were put in motion to get Arcee into Vos.

Despite her mentor's previous doubts, when the day came, the femme possessed enough ability to control her passage through the air currents as she swooped in towards the city, and an aura of distinct smugness settled over Arcee once the worst was behind her. Vos' spires stretched to meet her as she approached, standing proud yet tarnished against the sky. Tallest of all were the four domed towers of the citadel, arranged in diamond formation around the glittering glass of the central hall.

They weren't the only things to offer greeting. As she circled overhead, slowly descending towards the centre of the city, she noted the congregation gathered outside the citadel. A cluster of seekers thronged the building's front courtyard, and in their midst was the Primus-forsaken statue that she so despised. Her vents stuttered a little. Starscream had warned her there might be a crowd, but she hadn't expected this many!

Arcee would be under close scrutiny from the moment she touched down: she couldn't afford to slip up.

A ping from Prowl sounded in her helm, checking that she'd made it, and she sent back a slightly distracted affirmative. He, Optimus and Ratchet had seen her off from the Manganese Mountains so that she could fly into the city as Nightracer. Chromia had made a brief appearance too, to clasp her servo and provide some words of encouragement, but she disappeared back to base soon after.

Saying goodbye had felt disturbingly similar to abandonment - perpetrated by whom, Arcee wasn't sure. Either way, her reply was answered in turn by one each from Optimus and Ratchet (wishing her luck, checking that she knew what to say and how to say it). That negated the loneliness a little, but didn't still the nervous thrum of her spark.

She was coming in to land now. The crowd moved to accommodate the femme with a quiver of wings and whispers; all optics upon her as she transformed, turned a loose circle in the air, and landed with a thud that carried an awful finality to it.

Arcee might have left the Autobot base that morning, but Nightracer now stood at the heart of her new home.

And stood with her head held high at that; infinitely better-balanced than on the day when she'd first left the medbay. The seekers were expecting Nightracer to carry herself like a Winglord, and a Winglord they would get, to the best of her ability. Starscream had warned that they were anticipating as much the last time he'd spoken with her - right after delivering an address to explain the matter to his citizens.

A rumbling sounded ahead of her, as the embossed doors of the citadel slid open. Two seekers - one a slender mech, the other a tall, heavily-armoured femme - descended the steps and stood at attention on either side of the entrance. Arcee had to stop herself rolling her optics at the display.

In the doorway now stood the familiar figure of the Vosnian Winglord himself. Wings were raked high above his shoulders (far bolder a stance than he'd ever displayed at the base, particularly when Chromia or Ironhide were around) and as Arcee watched he extended his servos towards her in greeting. He walked steadily down into the courtyard with a welcoming smile pinned on his faceplates.

Arcee forced her pedes forwards - striving for grace and posture, remembering what they had rehearsed. She felt more like a puppet than an undercover operative.

"Nightracer!" the mech called out, still wearing that (slightly insipid, in Arcee's opinion) grin. They embraced, and the femme concentrated on remembering her lessons from Prowl before she spoke.

"Starscream," she replied, in the slightly clipped tones of a Praxian accent. An attempt was made to mimic his expression.

The seeker stepped back, taking her servo in his and raising it to his lips.  _That_ hadn't been in the script - but Arcee gave him points for improvisation. She hoped that her wryly impressed smirk came across as slightly more flattered than she felt.

"Welcome to Vos," the Winglord murmured. "I trust your journey here went smoothly?"

Now they were back to the prearranged conversation, and she launched into it in earnest, glad that the assembled seekers seemed to have accepted her presence. No, there hadn't been any trouble reaching the city - besides an unexpected rainstorm further over towards the Rust Sea. And could Nightracer just add how glad she was to see her old friend doing so well for himself?

This was readily permitted, and while they were at it -

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Nightracer," Starscream said, clasping one of her servos in both of his own. (All in all, Arcee felt they were doing well keeping up the 'old friends' façade - especially considering their actual opinions of each other). "Lord Megatron's right; it's high time I chose a bondmate. I can't tell you how glad I am you accepted."

"Anything to help such a dear friend," Arcee replied, smiling.  _Sophisticated, keep it sophisticated, stay formal._  "And I guess a friend would be better if Megatron's insistent on this, instead of a femme you've never met. Besides," she tried for a laugh. "I had a fair few friends before the war who went into arranged bonds - it was something you did have to contemplate back then with our sort of background, wasn't it?"

Oh, how she hated playing a snob.

Nobody seemed to notice her distaste, however, as Starscream smiled in reply and offered an arm to escort her inside. Arcee accepted with as much grace as she could muster, internally reviling herself for her mannerisms as she passed first the crowd; then the guards; and finally the doorframe of the citadel that was now to be her home.

 

* * *

 

They'd made it to the base of the stairs by the time the doors slid shut, and as Starscream's pair of guards slipped inside the Autobot took her chance to look around the entrance hall.

Her first impression was that of a gilded cavern. Intricate metalwork and embellishment decorated most surfaces, but it was hard to make out the details - the circular chamber's lofty ceiling and high, narrow windows didn't allow for much light to find its way around. Even with lamps dotted throughout the hall there were whole areas shrouded in shadow.

(Not all the lamps were working, either. Arcee took this as a sign of fuel shortages, though it surprised her that those were evident even in here).

The staircase she stood by was one of a pair: Starscream and the two guards had already ascended to the balcony it led to, so Arcee followed suit, tilting her helm back slightly for a better view. Both sets of stairs swept out towards the edges of the balcony, with white metal forming the entire structure. It was clearly supposed to be polished, but had tarnished over time. Now its sheen more closely resembled that of oil, covered in a film of grease and dust. She noted, too, that some of the struts in the banisters were missing - the staircase had the appearance of a broken, serpentine skeleton. Starscream evidently hadn't been living in as much splendour as she'd first thought.

The femme paused on a small landing halfway up to scan the chamber again, voices drifting down to her from above as the Winglord's conversation with his guards echoed off the curved walls. She couldn't see much of those in the dim light, but beyond a tall window on each side they seemed to be decorated with wrought panels, in some sort of bronze metal. It was hard to make out what those depicted.

 _Probably showing Starscream's heroic return to Cybertron,_  Arcee thought disparagingly.

There was nobody else in the hall with them, but Arcee knew the Vosnian council would have congregated in the chambers on the tower's upper floors. Starscream had told her what to expect, more or less, when she met the councillors - along with giving her a brief lesson on what was where in the citadel.

Such a lesson seemed woefully inadequate now, with her spark twisting itself in knots. She went over lines in her CPU - innocuous phrases, polite greetings, things that would make her seem high-caste and definitely not blow her cover before she'd even begun here...

"Nightracer?"

It took her a moment to realise that she was being addressed. With a slight start, Arcee picked up her pace as she climbed past the fragile-looking chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and crossed the balcony to where Starscream stood.

"I'd like you to meet my attendants," the Winglord said, indicating the pair he had been conversing with. A warning look in his optics communicated another message - apparently her dawdling investigation of the hall had met with disapproval.

She returned his stare with one of her own, hoping to convey that he could go frag himself, and turned to the other seekers, extending a servo.

"Pleased to meet you."

The femme stepped forward first: a tall, gangly jet with thick, vivid red armour and a blocky black helm. She had blue optics, but wore no badge, so Arcee assumed this was a Neutral.

She nodded in acknowledgement before accepting the servo. "Name's Windblade. Personal bodyguard to our Winglord - and to you, if you think you'll ever need protecting!" Her grip was firm as she shook Arcee's hand, with her other servo resting on one of the twin swords at her waist. She smiled as she stepped away, though, clapping her companion on the shoulder.

"And this" - a slight, friendly shake of the mech - "is Metalhawk."

"Lady Nightracer," he murmured, with a small bow - at which Arcee inwardly balked. "May I be the second to welcome you to this city?"

"You... you may."

Metalhawk carried himself with a stance that befit his overwrought words; back straight and head held high. He gleamed gold from wingtip to pede, with pointed fins framing the sides of his helm and curiously amber optics. He, too, displayed no faction sigil.

 _Two Neutrals as Starscream's closest companions,_  Arcee mused. That _can't have gone over well with Megatron._

"Metalhawk is my advisor," Starscream explained as the golden mech stepped back. "He and Windblade will show you round the citadel once you've met with my council - which we ought to be done with as soon as possible, truth be told." The shade of a grimace graced his faceplates, and the femme recalled one flying lesson that'd fallen right after a council meeting. Starscream's griping then had given her some forewarning of what most of these mechs were like: a group of elitist seekers who'd fled the planet at the first sign of war, returning only now to demand seats on the senate.

Apparently, power-grabbing ranked higher than acting in Vos's bests interests where government was concerned. Though considering who their Winglord was, Arcee wasn't surprised.

Said Winglord proffered his arm again and she took it reluctantly; following Metalhawk and Windblade into a walkway that led out of the building. Two smaller, but just as skeletal, pairs of staircases occupied this space: one leading up and out, presumably towards the second of the four towers; the other doubling back for access to the chambers above the entrance hall. It was one of these latter two that they climbed.

At the top of the stairs, to the right, were a set of silver double doors, tucked beneath yet another staircase (for mechs who flew everywhere, seekers seemed to like climbing a lot). A faint hum of chatter could be detected in the room beyond as the four seekers approached, and Arcee eyed the carved metal with no small amount of trepidation. This was to be the first real test of her alter ego - she just hoped that Nightracer would hold up under close scrutiny.

 

* * *

 

"So,  _Lady_  Nightracer - where exactly have you been hiding all this time?"

Starscream resisted the urge to roll his optics at his chief councillor's overbearing manner. Polaris had already subjected Arcee to a veritable barrage of probing questions, and didn't look to be letting up any time soon.

(Red Wing, further down the table, neglected to show such restraint, and a sigh gusted up from where he sat. He may have been the son of a former councillor, but apparently he'd received none of the ettiqute training his mother had).

Starscream saw the femme under fire flick the briefest look of irritation over, from her seat at his left. For once, he could sympathise. He felt almost as apprehensive as she doubtless did - fearful that their story would fall to pieces.

"Where else but the Neutral Territories?" Arcee replied. (Starscream was grudgingly impressed by how carefully the Autobot stayed in well-mannered character). On his right, the monochromatic Polaris seemed less admiring of her target's response: her optic ridges were raised, her mouth a thin line. Judging by Bitstream's expression the former technician shared her opinion, though he wasn't so outspoken about it.

"Forgive me, but there have been certain rumours of a...  _tryst_  with the Autobots. One can't help but overhear sometimes - I'm sure you understand. As some would have it, you spent the last few lunar cycles in Tarn!"

That was out of line, in Starscream's opinion. Councillors were  _supposed_  to exercise courtesy, but Polaris had haughtiness enough for ten seekers, and doubtless believed that a former grounder didn't deserve such effort.

"And where did you hear these rumours, Polaris?" he bit back - somewhat harshly, but justified, in his opinion. "Would the 'some who'd have it' be Megatron and his cohort, by any chance?"

The look he received in return, cool and supercilious as it was, might have silenced him once; back before the war when he was a young undercouncillor. Now he was far more used to Polaris' tactics, and the tactics of those like her. That was mostly thanks to the femme herself, as he'd been her protegé in those days - and she'd trained him well, to the point that he no longer cared about her judging his ideas. (Though he certainly still trusted her; enough to fill her in on the real reason for 'Nightracer's' presence at the citadel. If not Arcee's, for obvious reasons).

Polaris wholeheartedly approved of his indifference, he knew.

 _A Winglord should never let themselves be swayed by their rivals_ : that was one of the first things she'd told him, upon disembarking the ship that had returned her to Cybertron. He'd assumed she was talking of Megatron's thrall over him, in the form of his city's safety, and commented as much.

_"... Then it's lucky I have a known ally now, isn't it?"_

_"Oh, I'm just as much an opponent as anyone else. Or at least, I should be to your mind. Otherwise you'll get sloppy."_

He supposed that this little interrogation was a demonstration of her warning - although why she felt it was needed, Starscream had no idea. He had quite enough on his plate worrying about the ever-present threat that Megatron posed, without his allies turning against him to prove a point!

And speaking of the Lord Protector...

"That's a good point, Starscream - does your Intended know what Megatron's made of her appearance?"

Before Winglord or said (irritated) Intended could reply, Sandstorm snorted derisively and folded her arms.

"I'd be surprised if she didn't. Ramjet's been busy letting  _everyone_  know about that."

She received a scowl from the white Conehead in reply, but nobody came to Ramjet's defence. Starscream wasn't surprised - the council had little love for their appointed Decepticon ambassador.

Polaris didn't look satisfied with Sandstorm's answer. With a dismissive flick of her wings, she resumed her questioning.

"Well, Starscream? Is your Lady Nightracer aware of the danger she's in? Perhaps we should see about getting a bodyguard for her, too... Though that might prove difficult. Hiring Windblade was rather scraping the bottom of the oildrum, after all"-

"I don't need a bodyguard!" Arcee finally burst out, her voice heated and her servos clenched into fists. Starscream shot her a warning look, which she duly ignored as she rose to her pedes.

"And I thought it'd be obvious that I know what Megatron's made of this - d'you think I'd agree unless I did? Unless I knew the risks?"

Polaris was treated to a glare; one that Starscream knew well, having been on the receiving end numerous times. This time, though, it was darkened by the stormy purple of her optics, and the Winglord was surprised that his chief councillor didn't flinch.

A taut wire of silence stretched between the two femmes as they held each others' gaze; one quivering with fury, the other stern and so still that her posture appeared serene.

Arcee was the first to let go, dropping back heavily into her seat. Starscream tried not to groan in exasperation at her behaviour, feeling their façade slipping by the second.

"I can protect myself, too," she added, more than a little defensively. "You... you kind of have to learn. When you're trying to survive in a galaxy that that won't shelter you like it did your elders and betters." A pointed glare to Polaris, Sandstorm and Red Wing each. Clearly Arcee hadn't forgotten their lesson detailing the councillors' backgrounds.

Well, at least she was sticking to the story. In her own way. Starscream could sense real bitterness behind those words - which made sense, if he listened to them as Arcee speaking; expressing her frustration that these mechs had squirrelled themselves away whilst she fought to preserve their planet.

A fight that he had helped to hinder and, ultimately, had ended - by handing the Keys over to Megatron.

Sandstorm was the only one who had the grace to look abashed at Arcee's comment, but she was the lesser offender. True, the Neutral colony she'd run had barred access to most non-fliers; but only because by the time her initial batch of refugees had been shipped off-planet, they were already struggling with numbers. Arcee still hadn't taken kindly to being told that story - from what Starscream could gather, Moonracer had been denied shelter there before she decided to join the Autobots; and denied quite violently at that.

 _Heartbreaking_  as the tale was, they really couldn't afford any more outbursts. Starscream's next look to the femme channelled a little more Polaris, and she finally seemed to take the hint; as Polaris herself launched into a discussion about plans for the upcoming bonding ceremony.

Thankfully, that wouldn't be for another month. Though judging by the expression that flashed briefly over his Intended's face, Starscream wasn't alone in wishing that it could be postponed indefinitely.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was quick to confront the femme about her outburst once the meeting ended.

"Nightracer - a word?"

She smiled at him courteously enough as he gestured to an alcove, hidden beneath the stairs just outside the council chamber. (Windblade pointedly moved beyond hearing distance). However, the moment Arcee was out of sight of the councillors her face twisted into a scowl.

"Is she going to do that  _every_  time we're in the same room?" the Autobot hissed. Starscream had no doubt as to who'd riled her up.

"Quite possibly, yes," he replied irritably. "Polaris can be polite enough when she wants to, but the thought of me bonding with a former grounder seems to be enough to do away with that. She disapproves of you, and I can't say I'm surprised."

"What did  _I_  do-?"

"You're supposed to be high-caste!" the Winglord snapped. "And I know it must be challenging for you to maintain that, but do  _try_  not to berate the councillors in the middle of a meeting!"

"Maybe you should find yourself better councillors, then. You said yourself the only thing Red Wing's good for is bitching about his family connections. You can keep Bitstream, though. At least  _he_  didn't interrogate me."

"Keep your voice down!"

"What, am I gonna pop their egos?"

"No,  _Nightracer_  will. And that's inherently more damaging." His voice was barely above a whisper - Sandstorm was shooting the pair an odd look.

"You could blow our cover. You probably will at some point. I hope you realise that."

To Starscream's surprise Arcee's shoulders slumped, and she blew out a heavy exvent.

"I know. We should've waited to find a SpecOps femme or something instead."

"You and I both know that it would've been too late to act if we had," the mech replied. "What you  _should_  have done is let that friend of yours accept the mission. She seemed less apt to hold grudges against mechs she's never even met!"

"Moonracer was out of the question. You don't need to know why."

"Then I suppose we're stuck with things as they are." Starscream glared at the femme. "I only hope you'll prove more adept from now on."

"Well if you've finished telling me what I already know, I'm out of here," Arcee replied flatly. Folding her arms, she stalked over to the lower staircase.

"Take Windblade with you," Starscream called after her, motioning to the bodyguard. "She can show you around the citadel."

Metalhawk, in turn, received a gesture to stay put when he made to follow. The Winglord's advisor would be required to help with arranging a few public appearances for 'Nightracer'. Arcee needed to work on her image.

As the two femmes took their leave, a third sidled up to him.

"Any particular reason for the grilling you gave Nightracer?" he asked Polaris.

"It was a test." Her voice was far airier than it had any right to be, given the trouble she'd just stirred up.

"I hope you were satisfied with the results. All it's served to do in my optics is make my Intended  _dissatisfied_  with you."

"Oh, I was," the femme grinned, glancing sideways at Starscream. "That one's got more fire in her than she wants to let on, though I'm not surprised she tried to hide it. Must be a bit of a culture shock, returning to all this formality after so long on the run."

"Your point?" An impatient pede tapped the floor as the Winglord interrupted his former mentor's rambling.

"My point is that she's far too good for you. Certainly tough enough to handle you, though.

"Anyway, she'll manage here well enough. And you're to help her, or I'll know."

"Do I need to remind you how many millennia it's been since I last took orders from you?"

"No," Polaris smirked. "But you'll follow this one if you know what's good for you. Right now, she's the key to keeping Megatron at bay, so you'd best take care of her."


	7. Chapter Six: Bump In The Night

After several drawn-out megacycles, Windblade finally showed an exhausted Arcee to her new quarters. The citadel contained room enough for numerous guests and inhabitants, but few bots actually made use of the accommodation. Her hab suite was the only one occupied in a line of five, down a south-east facing corridor. 

Pedes dragging slightly, the Autobot made for a tall, rounded window at the end of the hall and collapsed into the seat below.

"I'll head inside soon," she told the bodyguard. "Just need to rest - these new wings are a fragging pain in the aft to walk with, especially touring a place this size."

Speaking of pains in the aft, the councilmechs hadn't been much better. Arcee might've been masquerading as an upper-caste femme (for all the value castes held  _now_ , after the war), but it was clear that the poor substitute for a seeker she portrayed wasn't good enough for their Winglord - or Crown Prince, as they insisted on calling him. Six appraising stares, and six muttered slights against her alias' appearance was the greeting she'd received. The loudest stares and mutters had been perpetrated by Polaris: a severe, angular femme painted in black, grey and white. It had had the uncomfortable air of some warped 'meet the parents' scenario, with Starscream remainimg uptight and near-silent throughout the introductions.

As she mulled this over, Arcee became aware of Windblade staring at her.

_"What?!"_

She wasn't in the mood to be courteous.

"I didn't think someone of your status would use language like that, Lady Nightracer. Is something wrong?"

_Scrap._

Processor whirring to come up with an excuse, the Autobot groaned. That wouldn't exactly help her case, but Primus did she need to vent her frustration somehow.

She hadn't even lasted a day.

"Okay. Um." Arcee swung her pedes up onto the seat and folded her arms across her knees. Windblade arched an optic ridge at this further breach of upper-caste etiquette, tilting her helm.

An idea occurred to the grey seeker, and she patted the ledge beside her.

"Sit down. I guess I should confess to someone, and it might as well be you."

Warily, the bodyguard obeyed. Arcee threw in a sigh for good measure before beginning.

"You saw the councillors earlier, right? When I was introduced?"

Windblade nodded. "Of course I did."

"Did you see the way they looked at me? Like I was a... a diseased scraplet, that they'd found in somebody's sparkchamber?"

"I don't think they all"-

"-No, but most of them did. Red Wing, Bitstream, Polaris - Ramjet too, but I guess that was for different reasons - they disapprove of me. They're fixated on upholding tradition." She averted her optics. "Imagine how they'd look at me if they knew that I stopped upholding  _that_  the minute I left the planet."

Comprehension was beginning to dawn on the other femme's face. She leaned forwards, but still wore a slight frown.

"Thing is, the war made me realise status doesn't matter. It's not like I escaped ithe fighting - I left early on, but both factions made that move too, eventually. You must have run into soldiers at some point, you'll remember what it was like..."

"Yeah," Windblade agreed. "Nobody really bothered us on Ca- on the colony where I was staying, but when I started out... They didn't have much sympathy for us, did they?"

Arcee smiled wryly in agreement. She herself  _had_  sympathised with the Neutrals to a degree, not least beacause Moonracer had originally been one; but many of her comrades had been far less forgiving.

Windblade reminded her of Moonie in some ways, with her cheerful manner and quiet concern. A niggling thought at the back of her CPU was whispering about guilt and deceit - but she couldn't afford to feel bad about lying to the other femme. It was either deception to maintain her cover (and her safety) or a few more untruths against an already-blackened record.

And she'd do best to further said cover's preservation. The best lies were said to have kernels of truth in them - time to test that.

"The councillors, though" - an exasperated gesture in the direction of the front tower - "most of them ran even earlier than I did. Starscream's told me.  _They_  were given shelter on other planets the moment they left; I had to fight for survival more times than I can remember while I was out there. I never really managed to settle anywhere." Arcee laughed bitterly and felt no need to feign it: she had nothing but resentment for the Vosnian councilmechs. Much as for their Winglord.

"Windblade, I might've been high-caste once... but that was before the war. Now I'm just playing a part whenever I act like them."

_Only I've never played this part before, and it's all too easy to break character._

"I... see," the other femme responded hesitantly. "I understand why you'd want to act that way, I guess. I've not got much love for the council myself. But Lady Nightracer"-

"Just Nightracer.  _Please_. And tell Metalhawk to stop calling me that, too."

That finally earned a grin from the swordsfemme. "Nightracer, then. I think you should know - for all that you're putting on an act for the council, you don't seem stuck up, like them. Far from it."

"That's a relief, I guess." The Autobot rose to her pedes. "Now, c'mon. You're supposed to show me which room's mine, right?"

The bodyguard nodded and imitated Arcee, spreading her wings in some semblance of a stretch.

"You're in the second suite from the end," she said, pointing. "None of them are in brilliant shape, I'm afraid, but that one's held up better than the others."

As poor repair as they may have been in, Arcee's new lodgings seemed almost luxurious compared to her room at the Autobot base. However, ithey weren't without their shortcomings. Inside, the suite was dim enough that she had to reboot her optics upon entering to adjust to the dark. The wall panels were dull - even rusted in the corners, if she wasn't mistaken - and the air felt a little stale, but she had a set of three rooms to herself; each larger on its own than her old berthchamber.

As she wandered through she let her gaze drift over the furnishings. Everything was small and lost-looking, stranded on wide stretches of floor, and most of the suite's contents were as visibly worn as the space they occupied. Arcee could empathise with the former: the citadel, with its high ceilings and echoing halls, had her almost disoriented after living so long in the underground confines of the Autobot base.

After investigating the washracks (rusted, gloomy) and the berthroom (dusty, gloomier), she returned to her new living area and flopped onto a battered couch. Windblade was making for the door.

"Stay for a while. Please," Arcee said, nodding to a chair across from her. It was missing an arm. She paused, and gestured instead to another, nearby couch.

Windblade smiled and obliged, leaning forwards once she was seated to rest her elbows on her knees.

"I suppose Starscream can manage without me for a bit longer."

"I bet he can," Arcee muttered, as various battlefield skirmishes sprang to mind. Then she caught herself. "I mean, he's the Decepticon second-in-command. He must be able to hold his own in a fight. Why does he even need a bodyguard?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Windblade replied. "It's probably a status thing. I wouldn't know - I haven't really been working for him for all that long. Got hired after the last conscription was called."

"Conscription?" Starscream hadn't mentioned  _that_  before.

"To Cybertron's armed forces." Windblade grimaced. "Megatron's got a high demand for seekers, and that included Lord Starscream's old bodyguard. Acid Storm, I think his name was. Last I heard, he was working for Shockwave."

Arcee frowned at that. Shockwave was a scientist - what use did he have for soldiers? Even ones who had been close to Starscream?

Unless he was experimenting on them...

She hoped that wasn't the case, though - especially since she'd witnessed first hand just how ruthless the cyclops could be.

"I don't think Acid Storm was Starscream's original bodyguard, either," Windblade was saying. "There's bots getting drafted so often... I'll probably be cycled out next." The red femme bit her lip. "I don't want to go, for obvious reasons, but there's not much I can do. Metalhawk's always been around, though - I'm pretty sure Starscream must've vouched for him so he wouldn't get called up."

Her optics dimmed. "I wish he'd do the same for me. I don't want to join the 'Cons."

Arcee reached across and took the other femme's servo in her own.

"I don't want to fight," the Neutral continued. "I didn't come back to Cybertron to fight. I came back to  _learn_. About..."

"About?" the grey seeker prompted. She found herself wanting to gain the femme's trust despite her earlier resolution - Primus knew she needed an ally here.

"I wanted to learn about the Metrotitans," Windblade replied in a rush. "When I heard the planet had been resurrected, I hoped"-

"You hoped that that included the Cityformers," Arcee finished.

"It's stupid, I know, but... I'd always dreamed of seeing them."

The bodyguard hesitated.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you come here, Lady- I mean, Nightracer?"

"Same as everyone else, I guess," the Autobot replied. "I wanted to see home again, and"-

-"Not back to Cybertron. Why did you agree to come to Vos? I saw the way you were acting around Starscream earlier. You say that you're friends, but you don't act like it."

"You're perceptive, aren't you?" Arcee smiled grimly, shifting in her seat. "First you blew my cover and now you're picking apart my relationship with my Intended."

Windblade ducked her head. "I didn't mean to"-

"Don't apologise. You're right. Honestly, I'm not sure where we stand right now. He's- he's not the mech I knew before."

She hoped that the bodyguard would buy that, cliched as it was. This at least was something she'd seen coming. Even if she'd had any real talent at acting, she knew that her hostility towards Starscream would be apparent on some level, but luckily she'd been able to prepare a functional, if unimaginative, reason.

_It doesn't need to be some elaborate sob story - just enough to keep everyone off my back._

"I guess I should've expected it. I've not been living under a rock, I've heard stories... but when he contacted me, it seemed like he'd barely changed. I think I hoped that was true, but I didn't really believe it. Some of the things they say he's done..." Arcee hoped her shudder didn't look too forced. "He explained the situation to me and I agreed, but I didn't register that this was the Decepticon second-in-command. I was just talking to the Starscream I knew from back before the war."

"You don't strike me as the sort of femme to just jump into something like that," Windblade protested. "You- you weren't  _coerced_  or anything, right?"

_That wouldn't have been above him, I bet, if it'd come to it._  "No, I wasn't forced. Starscream's done a lot of stuff that I don't want to think about - and there's some things I... I don't want to  _believe_  he's done - but making me agree to this wasn't one of them. I'm here of my own free will, even if it might not seem like it."

"But why"-

"I really don't want to go into detail, Windblade," Arcee interrupted sharply. The red femme recoiled a little and the Autobot sighed, softening her tone.

"Look, it's been a long day in a new place - new faces, new stuff to get used to. I don't want to think about all that right now. Just... let me get some rest, alright?"

Windblade nodded, rose, and headed for the door. Her wings were drooping slightly; oddly reminiscent of the forlorn way Moonracer's biolights flickered when she was worried. That thought prompted a pang of homesickness, with a generous helping of guilt twisted in.

"Sorry," Arcee called out, and bodyguard turned back. "I. Um. I know I invited you in the first place, and now it feels like I'm kicking you out"-

"It's alright, Nightracer," Windblade smiled. "I'm supposed to look out for you, but if you need privacy and rest then that's what I'll give you." She inhaled slowly, averting a now-anxious gaze.

"If you need my help, though - for anything at all - please just ask."

It was like a weight off Arcee's spark once the guard had left. Between Windblade's questioning and the council's earlier scrutinies, she was starting to feel more like a lab specimen than an 'honoured' guest. They were right to be suspicious, of course - if they knew the full story then both she and Starscream would be captured and executed in a sparkbeat. Even so, it was exhausting keeping up her charade under such close examination.

Maybe it wasn't a rest she needed after all. In truth, Arcee already wanted out; if only for a few hours. She needed to ditch Nightracer and be herself again.

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards as she remembered Chromia's goodbye that morning. Reaching into her subspace, she withdrew the device that her friend had slipped her: the old holographic paint chip, newly repaired by Perceptor.

The femme had read the message in Chromia's smile earlier, but Arcee doubted whether she or Moonie would be expecting her back so soon.

Then again, they might not be too surprised. It  _had_  been a pretty knowing smile...

 

* * *

 

It was darker than Arcee had anticipated by the time she made it out of the citadel. The sun was barely visible above the broken skyline, pulling the shadows under the looming towers out into long, jagged fingers. With her newly-black paint job and swift pedes the femme went almost unseen as she flitted through the streets. Her wings only overbalanced her once or twice.

She knew the way well enough after her frequent patrol detours - and had even shot a glare at the statue as she left, for old time's sake. Thankfully, security had been lax when it came to the side door she'd found, and nobody seemed to have spotted her crossing the courtyard.

No one was really around to see her beyond the gates, either. There was no curfew imposed in Vos (unlike Iacon and other more northern cities), but few seekers nowadays had the credits or energon needed to fuel any kind of prolific nightlife. Many, too, would be exhausted after a day working in the mines.

Arcee had learned all that from Starscream. During breaks in their flying lessons she'd pressed the seeker for information on his city, determined that she wouldn't be going in blind. He'd never mentioned the drafting, though.

Perhaps deliberately, the femme mused, recalling his stance on the seekers being sent down the mines.

_"We were built for flight. It's an integral part of our society - so much so that we need it in order to stay healthy! For Megatron to ignome that just shows how little he cares about his..._  subjects.

_"... In all honesty, it's something of a sore subject. I'd rather you didn't ask me about that again."_

Arcee remembered thinking at the time that it must have been, if it'd moved him to answer so politely. But now - as she turned down an alleyway shortcut that she'd taken on her patrols before - looking around, it didn't seem so funny. The whole city was showing signs of the strain placed on the seekers, which wasn't surprising given that those made up the majority of its inhabitants. Most buildings were covered in a rime of soot, and at least one on every street was shut up and abandoned. Ahead, she spied a lone seeker hurrying across the mouth of the alley.

She didn't see the two sneaking up behind her until it was too late.

A knee slammed into her backstrut, sending her sprawling to the ground with a crash and a yell. The display was met with a high-pitched, screeching laugh.

"Wanna do the honours for this one, Antagony? You did take her out - not that it was difficult!"

And Arcee had thought Starscream's voice was annoying. The Autobot groaned and tried to push herself up, but her wings were a stubborn weight resisting her efforts. Someone's pede stamped down between them and she cried out as she felt plating buckle. The impact jarred her paint chip - static crackled over her body as her disguise melted away.

A raspy female voice sounded close to her audio, accompanied by digits poking at her side.

"Holy slag..." it muttered. "Terrorsoar, it's the Winglord's new little berthwarmer! Forget this one's subspace - we'd be better to ransom her or something."

"Hm..." the first voice mused, as its owner paced around Arcee. "Who to, though? People've been saying that Megatron's not happy about the bonding thing. How much d'you reckon he'd pay to get her out of the picture?"

"Don't be stupid!" Antagony hissed. "How would we even contact him? And it's not like he'd believe us, anyway. We'll hide her, then send a message to the citadel."

"But"-

They were arguing. Dimly, Arcee registered this fact through the pain and realised she'd been given a distraction. As her captors continued to bicker she rolled to the side - this time taking advantage of her wings' weight to gain momentum - and smashed into Antagony, carrying them both into the wall with a crunch. The other femme gave a screech, but Terrorsoar seemed momentarily too stunned to act.

That wouldn't last. Arcee staggered to her pedes as quickly as she was able, ignoring the pain that shot down her backstrut, and charged forwards, barrelling past the mech. She caught a brief glimpse of wide red optics and crimson plating before the mech yelped and jumped aside.

Her flight carried her halfway back along the passage, with Antagony's screams of abuse at Terrorsoar echoing along behind. However, one wing was listing to the side from her injury, and as she slowed down there was no way to counterbalance it. Arcee crumpled to the ground.

Footsteps were following her, accompanied by Terrorsoar's shrill laughter. Close to panic, the femme pushed herself upright, trying to throw a punch.

Her balance was off, so she missed horrendously. The mech caught her arm and wrenched it upwards another cackle. Arcee clenched her denta in a bid not to scream in pain and lashed out with a pede. Her foot scraped his leg harmlessly.

_I can't fight in this new frame._

The thought was as terrifying as it was overwhelming - without her combat skills, she was out of options.

... Or maybe she still had one left.

Starscream had given her his comm. frequency.

There was no guarantee that he'd deign to come to her aid - for all she knew, he'd let her be kidnapped and pay the ransom - but he was her last hope. She couldn't exactly call the Autobots out here.

And one thing she did know, from experience, was that he could be damn slagging good in a fight.

:: _Starscream!_ :: she yelled into the comm. A startled ping answered. Realising that her second assailant was moving in - presumably to knock her out - she kept the message short. A relaying of her coordinates; a quick :: _Been captured_ ::, and a swing of her pede at Antagony's waist, and Arcee cut the transmission.

She'd actually made contact with her kick that time, but only enough to scratch the armour. As both of her would-be kidnappers laughed the Autobot tried to wriggle out of Terrorsoar's grip. The wiring in her arm felt like it was being ripped apart after her first few attempts, but with a particularly violent twist Arcee slipped free and dropped.

Terrorsoar and Antagony both gave shouts of surprise and moved to grab their captive as Arcee danced awkwardly out of reach; leaning on the alley wall for support. High buildings on either side blocked most of the rapidly dwindling light, so all she could see of the others was two pairs of optics - one wide and red, the other narrow and livid violet - and vague silhouettes. The red-eyed silhouette lunged - Arcee grabbed for the shadowy arm that extended and swung him round into the wall.

Unfortunately, it swung her round too - straight into Antagony's grip. The other femme latched onto her wing and pulled, sending Arcee to join Terrorsoar on the floor as the pain made her double over. She knelt there, servos clenched against the ground as her backstrut throbbed, and prayed that Starscream would bother to show up.

Terrorsoar began to pick himself up - but froze as an engine roared overhead. Someone transformed and dropped to land beside him, switching their floodlights on and nearly blinding Arcee. They straightened up, dealt a kick to his helm that knocked him down again, then unsheathed a sword -

_Sword?!_  Arcee didn't remember -

\- And Windblade pointed her weapon at Antagony's throat.

"Step away from her.  _Now._ "

Arcee's optics widened slightly as she noticed the tremor in the bodyguard's voice, but the other two seemed not to hear it. They were too preoccupied with hightailing it down they alley.

The Autobot glanced up from the floor to meet Windblade's uncertain gaze.

"Should we... go after them?" the red femme asked.

Arcee smiled wryly.

"You really haven't been in the job long, have you? Rule number one of being a bodyguard: always protect the principle. And I kinda need a lot of protecting right now." She gestured to her torn wing joint. "I'm not exactly fit to defend myself."

_Despite what I told Polaris earlier,_ the femme realised. The councillor would love to see this, she didn't doubt.

Windblade extended a servo to help her up.

"Had experience, have you?"

"Yeah."  _But not on the end that you'd think._

As Arcee hobbled over to lean on the wall, Windblade folded her arms.

"So, I think this is where I ask you what in Pit's name you were thinking," she deadpanned. "And I think Starscream would like to know, too."

"I..." Arcee wracked her CPU for an excuse. "I'd heard that an old friend of mine had ended up here, but... well, she's a Neutral. If Megatron somehow heard that the Winglord's Intended has allies in one of the so-called 'rebel' groups..."

Windblade regarded her skeptically for a moment before shrugging and turning back up the passage.

"I would've thought he'd know that anyway, soon enough," she said.

"Huh?"

To Arcee's relief, Windblade was grinning when she caught up.

"I'm your friend, aren't I? Although I've gotta say"- the bodyguard giggled -"when I offered to help you, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind!"

The Autobot laughed with her, but couldn't help feeling a stab of guilt. Windblade thought she was befriending Nightracer, and while Arcee had resolved not to care about it, it was hard not to be remorseful about deceiving the bodyguard. Which Windblade didn't deserve anyway, particularly since under different circumstances the former two-wheeler would have loved to know her, as herself.

However, the Neutral was hiding something too. It was subtle, but Arcee had picked up on it, and she resolved to ask Starscream a few choice questions about Windblade's position at the citadel.

Figuring out the other femme could wait for the moment, she decided. All she currently wanted to do was head back to the citadel and get fixed up.

Though as she fielded a sudden angry ping from Starscream, demanding that she explain herself, an idea began to form in her CPU. She might have to wait until the Winglord had calmed down before asking - but if her suspicions about Windblade were correct it could solve two problems at once.


	8. Chapter Seven: Anti-Social Butterfly

"I need a sparring ring."

The demand was presented without much preamble - she'd stormed in here, ignoring odd looks from various undercouncillors, overridden the door controls (thank you, Windblade) and thrown herself unceremoniously into the chair before Starscream's desk. She probably should've commed ahead, but then he'd have been expecting it.

Starscream didn't even look up from his datapad.

"Do try to at least knock, in future," he muttered absently. "And stop badgering Windblade for access codes. Even Polaris doesn't know that one."

Arcee  _had_  wanted to maintain a stony silence, but at that her expression darkened.

" _You_  never tell me any of the passcodes. How else am I supposed to get around this place?"

The mech gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Did you not realise that that was intentional? Judging by your first night here, I need some form of restriction in place or you'll keep nosing around where you shouldn't."

"That was completely unrelated, and you know it. You're trying to stop me from offending the councillors with my presence, aren't you? All the upper levels of this tower were blocked off until Windblade helped."

"And obviously, you couldn't just accept that as a matter of course!" Starscream burst out. "They're blocked off to most, I think you'll find. You have access to the lower levels of both side towers and the accommodation areas - and soon that will include my tower at the back, too, much as I'm sure we're both dreading that point. That's more than a good ninety percent of those who work here."

"Yeah, but I  _live_  here," Arcee protested, leaning over the desk a little. Starscream still looked unconvinced.

"Which kinda brings me back to the sparring ring - I've got nothing to do, unless I spend all day reading. I can't leave the citadel  _on your orders_  in case I get attacked again, so can't I at least work on my combat skills?"

She didn't like how pleading her voice had grown, but being out of shape in this new frame had her feeling far more trapped than the passcode restictions. Arcee couldn't remember a time when she hadn't had been able to defend herself.

"I can't see why you'd need to be  _able_  to fight in your life at the citadel," Starscream protested, finally setting down the datapad to glare at her.

The femme replied with nothing more than a deadpan stare as she waited for him to twig.

"That was a fluke!" he spluttered, rising from his chair. "It never would've happened if you'd just stayed put, and it's not as if they planned to assault you specifically!"

"But you  _know_  I could face a planned attack at some point," Arcee pressed. She leant back slightly to meet his optics. "And Windblade's not always gonna be there to help - if she  _could_  help in the first place!"

The Winglord began to retort before processing what she'd said. His mouth closed again and he sank slowly back into his seat; folding his servos in front of him.

"You know, then."

"I know something's not right with her being your bodyguard, since she doesn't seem to know much about the job," Arcee replied. "She favours her swords too much even at close quarters, and you should've heard how nervous she was confronting the two slaggers who ambushed me. We could have had them arrested by now, actually, if she'd gone with her instinct to bring them in - but that's not supposed to be the first instinct a bodyguard has. You keep sending her off around the citadel, like you don't even need her protection, and Primus knows you're good enough at defending yourself anyway. So  _why_  is she working for you?"

Starscream pushed himself out of his chair and headed for a terminal at the side of the room. The femme followed more slowly, with a slight frown.

"Windblade is a Cityspeaker."

It took her a moment to register that he'd spoken - she was too busy trying to read the screen over his shoulder.

"A what?"

"It's just as the name suggests, really. She fled to a colony called Caminus when the war began, and they offer teachings in communicating with Metrotitans."

A small noise of comprehension made the Winglord look back at her. "That's why she came back in the first place - to see the Titans."

"Yes. Sadly for her, the two Megatron's managed to revive aren't exactly easy to access; and they're sluggish at best. I doubt she'd have much luck coaxing a conversation from them in any case. She stopped here, first, since it was her home before the war, and when a contact informed me there was a Cityspeaker in Vos I offered her the job." His expression darkened.

"She'd have certainly found less favour with our Lord Protector if word got out about her. That happened with Acid Storm, and the others before him - he was a Rainmaker, so Shockwave took him in to examine. I'd rather the same fate didn't befall Windblade. The way I see it, I'm doing her a favour even if she's unsuited to her post."

"Because she's a seeker, right? I bet you wouldn't have bothered if she hadn't been from Vos."

"If she hadn't been a seeker, I doubt she'd have ended up in Vos in the first place!"

"You know that's not true - there's Neutrals with all kinds of frametypes sheltering here."

She let his sullen glare stew for a moment before continuing.

"Anyway, if I had a sparring ring I could help Windblade improve her skills too. I've been through the accommodation complex and there's loads of empty suites - it wouldn't take much to convert one. And I bet more people will want to use it than me and Windblade."

"I... very well," Starscream sighed, waving a servo. "If it'll get you off my back about this. But you'll have to manage it yourself - I can't take time out of my schedule for a  _renovation project_." He employed the same tone that might be used to say 'scraplet removal job'. "I'll fund it, provided you do the rest."

Arcee tried not to let her delight show too much, but as she turned and made for the door a grin split her faceplates.

"Oh, and Nightracer?"

She was more rehearsed in responding to that name now. The femme looked back, fighting to keep her expression under control.

"Yeah?"

"If you're looking for something to do in the meantime, I'd recommend the citadel's crystal gardens. They don't look like much anymore I'm afraid, but it's better than nothing." He paused, then went to retrieve something from his desk.

"Take this, as well," he added, handing her a datapad. "If you can read up on Vosnian history your knowledge might endear you to the councillors somewhat."

"... Thanks," Arcee replied, accepting the 'pad.

She allowed her smile to be seen this time.

 

* * *

 

Arcee found Windblade outside the door.

The Autobot gave a start, blurting out the bodyguard's name, before scanning the other femme's face for signs that she'd overheard anything.

"When did you get here?"

"Couple of cycles ago," the Neutral replied, a servo resting on the sword at her right. "Starscream sent me to see if Polaris needed an escort for visiting the medical district."

"I'm guessing she turned you down?" Arcee wasn't surprised that Windblade was being passed around like this, but it did sadden her somewhat. Hopefully she could change the Cityspeaker's situation soon.

Windblade nodded, and shrugged. "I didn't really fancy it anyway. The other night kinda showed you how useless I would've been."

She caught the look on Arcee's face and grinned.

"'Course, being turned down  _also_  meant I got back in time to overhear your talk with Starscream." Blue optics flickered in doubt for a moment.

"You seriously want to teach me?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't."

The bodyguard hesitated, before stepping forwards and lifting Arcee into a hug. The (much) smaller femme yelped in surprise, but that morphed into a laugh as her pedes swung beneath her.

Windblade's easy affection put the Autobot in mind of a certain mint-green sharpshooter. When Arcee stilled in the bodyguard's grip she was lowered back to the floor, her companion's optics darkening slightly.

"Something's bothering you."

"Nothing big. You just remind me of a... a friend."

Suddenly, her confinement to the citadel felt like a weight on her spark.

"I should probably..."

"Oh no, stay here for a bit!" Windblade insisted. "Tell me about the plans for the sparring ring if you want to take your mind off... is it homesickness?"

"In a way, I guess." Arcee managed a wan smile. "Mostly, I just miss her. And the others."

"You'll have to tell me about them too at some point - it might be good to get it off your chest."

"Maybe." Much as she hated deceiving her new friend, it seemed that she'd have to make up a few things about Moonie and Chromia - new names, for a start. "But if I'm going to be telling you my life story, you can at least tell me what it's like learning to be a Cityspeaker."

Windblade grinned and launched into this with immediate enthusiasm. Arcee spent another megacycle outside that door before heading back down.

 

* * *

 

Once the project was underway, Arcee found life at the citadel grew just a little more bearable.

She soon settled into a routine: as soon as she was awake and out of the washracks she refuelled on the move, heading down to the lower levels of the accommodation block to check in on yesterday's work; before walking to the nearby side tower and letting in the two mechs she'd hired to convert the space. It was taking longer than anticipated - mainly because she'd underestimated the size of the place, and also because the pair had informed her they could easily fit in another ring on the other side of the room. Arcee had agreed of course, but with the reinforcement necessary for that almost another week was added to the schedule.

Starscream didn't help matters either: every so often he'd produce a function or meeting at which her presence was required, sometimes with no more than a day's notice. The Autobot was convinced he did this deliberately, to sour relations between herself and the workers she'd hired over all the cancellations and missed consultations. They wouldn't quit, though - Arcee was sure of it. She'd made a point to track down two grounders for the job (even if one was a Decepticon) and it was obvious that they were grateful for the well-paid work where normally they wouldn't even be considered.

And the expenses for the delays were coming out of Starscream's funds, anyway. Even so, with all the Winglord's interfering the damn thing probably wouldn't be finished until after the bonding ceremony.

A week or so before the dreaded event, she was visited at the worksite by Switchblade.

That was a surprise in itself - the councillors tended to steer clear of her project, presumably because they disapproved of a newcomer (and a former grounder, at that) making such a drastic change to their precious citadel. Even Starscream had only been by once or twice.

Switchblade's first comment was even more baffling.

"It's looking impressive," he commented approvingly, leaning against the doorframe. Arcee was stood just inside, reading the datapad on Vosnian history Starscream had given her. (It was actually pretty interesting, especially looking at the city's role in the war before it was destroyed - though she'd never admit it). However, when the councillor spoke she gave a start and nearly dropped her device.

"I... um, thanks," she stammered, once she'd prevented the 'pad from taking a nosedive out of her servos. "Didn't think any of you would be interested in this, but"-

"Well you thought wrong, it seems," the navy mech replied. He was surprisingly well-spoken, Arcee had noted, for having spent the war as a general amongst Decepticons who mostly hailed from lower castes. Though considering the speed with which he'd jumped to claim a council seat, according to Starscream, it made sense that he'd held onto his roots.

"I suppose I could understand  _you_  wanting to see it," Arcee admitted, setting the datapad down on a nearby crate. "Unless associating with a former grounder's too socially dangerous?"

Switchblade gave a guffaw of laughter at that, which made the femme jump again.

"Polaris was right about you," he chuckled, walking into the room to lean on the wall next to her. "You've got fire in your spark. And you've clearly grown disillusioned with all this social hierarchy business - though I can't say I blame you after what you've been through."

"I'm sure Polaris would find a way to."

"She doesn't hate you, you know."

Arcee glanced up at him, optic ridges raised.

"Oh?"

"Far from it, actually." Switchblade grinned conspiratorially. "She was impressed with you in that first meeting, if you couldn't tell. And she approves of this project of yours, too - though that might just be because it's keeping you out of the main tower. How  _did_  you get hold of those passcodes, anyway?"

"So Polaris doesn't want me in the main tower either?" the femme asked, ignoring the question. She didn't want to land Windblade in trouble with the councillors. "Why are she and Starscream so against that, anyway?"

"I'm guessing the Praxian government wasn't quite as snobbish as we seekers can be, eh?" The mech was still smiling - it was starting to irritate Arcee. Especially as he sounded more than a little patronising.

"I don't think they like the idea of you sticking your olfactory housing into council affairs - not that I'm accusing you of doing that. You've only just gained wings, and having someone they see as a grounder hanging around is bound to upset their idea of order. Even if Starscream did invite you, he's one of the proudest seekers I know. It wouldn't surprise me if that's his reasoning."

"Wonder what they'll do once thing's finished," Arcee mused. "I won't be distracted away from the council chambers any more."

Switchblade coughed a little awkwardly.

"Well I suspact that Polaris, at least, is hoping your bonding will result in you carrying a sparkling."

The femme felt as though her spark had turned to lead. She knew what he was suggesting here, but she wished that she didn't.

"And if... if Starscream ended up carrying it?"

"They'd probably persuade you to take it instead," the navy seeker replied. "Starscream is the Winglord, after all; he has a city to run. Wheras you..."

"I'm just a guest with nothing to do."

Arcee couldn't have helped the heavy sigh that her words left on even if she'd tried.

"It's not just that. Look at you - only here for a month and you're turning the citadel upside down! I think they want you out of the way before you can do anything else."

 

* * *

 

Switchblade's words had been anything but welcome, but she had to face the fact that they were most likely true. It wasn't just the idea of being hidden away that stung, either.

How was she supposed to help the Autobots if she was shut up in a tower, caring for sparklings?

Arcee had thought she could be more proactive in this mission - maybe uncovering the occasional Decepticon secret; or making aerial scouting runs under the guise of recreational flight. Now, it seemed all she had to look forward to for who-knew-how-long was sitting on her servos all day, sometimes reading, sometimes sparring. Even the sparring ring now seemed a small triumph compared to what was in store for her.

 _I'll be like a princess in one of the humans' fairytales,_  she thought bitterly.  _Maybe I should try contacting Jack. "Sorry I caused the death of your friends, but could you be a warrior in shining armour and whisk me back to Earth?"_

And she hadn't even been kidnapped to keep with tradition - Arcee had walked into this of her own free will.

She was walking now, in fact. Pacing up and down one of the citadel's lower corridors, caged in like a turbotiger. The renovators had just left, and she'd thought a walk would clear her processor, but all it had done was give her thoughts time to stagnate.

Something caught her optic the next time she passed a window, however. A glint of gold, out in the dilapidated crystal gardens. As she watched the mech outside bent down, scattering something on the ground.

Arcee quirked an optic ridge at Metalhawk's behaviour. She assumed he was feeding something - but the few times she'd been out to the garden, she hadn't noticed any wildlife.

Curiosity piqued, the femme headed for a door at the end of the walk, activating the controls and stepping out into late-in-the-day sunshine. The few healthy crystal growths remaining amplified this light, sending it arcing across the path ahead and upwards to chase the citadel's towers.

Metalhawk had disappeared from his original spot. Arcee wasn't sure which direction he would have taken - the gardens were structured like a maze - but it couldn't hurt to make her way to the centre. Chances were that the mech would pass that way at some point.

She set off slowly, wanting to use the time to relax after her conversation with Switchblade. Walls of greying crystals and latticed metal led her way through the labyrinthine gardens, the path beneath her scattered with flaked-off debris from both. Her pedes made an unpleasant  _scrunch_  sound every time she took a step.

It wasn't a particularly complex maze. After a couple of dead ends and an encounter with a slightly lost-looking citadel worker (she'd stepped outside for a couple of cycles, taken the wrong turning to go back and ended up wandering around) Arcee found herself rounding the corner into the clearing at the centre. She hoped the other femme remembered her directions - the poor thing had seemed a bit absent-minded.

An overgrown, slightly pinkish crystal jutted out from its bed to her left - she stepped aside, but one of her wings swung back and knocked against it with a dull  _clack_. Despite the quietness of the contact Arcee felt pain swamp the sensors there, and staggered back into the opposite bed to land on her aft. Several choice words were employed to express her opinion of this development.

"Still getting used to those wings, are you?"

Metalhawk's clear voice interrupted her cursing. She elected not to reply and instead swore some more.

"In any case, I'd appreciate you turning down the language. You've scared the lilleths away."

That gave Arcee pause, and her tirade ceased.

" _Lilleths?!_ "

"Yes, lilleths," the golden seeker replied with a knowing grin.

"But... they're extinct, right?"

Well, they  _were_." His servos were held loosely behind his back, yet amber optics betrayed a glint of amusement that didn't match his usual deferential posture. "You might not like to hear it, but we have Shockwave to thank for their revival."

Arcee's mouth dropped open.

"How...?"

She sounded stupid asking so many questions, she knew, but the situation had taken a turn for the wholly bizarre and she couldn't quite keep up.

"I'm surprised you haven't seen any before," Metalhawk was saying. "Although then again, maybe that was deliberate. I don't imagine Shockwave would be too pleased if his little experiments decided to nest in the Neutral Territories. He wasn't even all that happy about us having them here in Vos."

"Because Starscream's betrayed Megatron in the past, right?" Arcee asked.

It dawned on her that she was still sat in a crystal bed. "I could use some help getting up right about now, you know."

She didn't know if Windblade had told Metalhawk about 'Nightracer''s secret distaste for etiquette. Best to stay as polite as she could manage, outburst of swearing notwithstanding.

Obligingly, the mech extended a servo, which she accepted, and pulled her to her pedes.

"So, where are these lilleths?"

She could put her worries about the mission aside for a couple of cycles if it meant seeing a previously-extinct species of mechanimal.

"Well I think I said before that you scared them off, but you're welcome to sit with me awhile and wait for them to come back."

He gestured to a bench standing next to one of the lattices that edged the clearing. It faced wide, white steps, which led up to a veranda on the back of the citadel's ceremonial hall.

The hall where her bond with Starscream would be announced in a week or so.

Again, she tried to put that out of her mind for the time being.

"So..." Arcee began, taking a seat on the bench. "Why did Shockwave try to bring them back? I didn't think he went in for conservation, or preservation of beauty - or,well, anything like that, really."

"I think they were part of him developing something bigger," Metalhawk explained. "No idea what, but he released them into the wilderness around around the northernmost cities and some eventually migrated down here. I've been trying to encourage them to start nesting in the gardens, but so far I'm out of luck."

He paused, eyeing the femme oddly. Arcee realised that she'd stopped listening to him - instead, she had been staring absently at the building before her. Only now did she notice a strained sensation between her optics: she'd been frowning.

Given the object of her focus, though, it was hardly surprising.

"Lady Nightracer - I mean, Nightracer - are you alright?"

He leaned forward slightly to check on the femme, before registering what was resting in her line of sight.

"Ah... I suppose you're thinking about the big day, are you?" he asked somewhat redundantly.

"Mm."

"Windblade told me you were having reservations."

"That's putting it mildly," Arcee muttered, before catching herself. "I... I mean"-

"No need to apologise." Metalhawk smiled wryly. "It must have been more than a little disconcerting, hearing what Starscream got up to during the war. I'm not surprised you're worried."

He shuffled his pedes slightly and glanced skywards, presumably checking for lilleths.

"But Nightracer - you should know that he's changed since he took on running Vos. I witnessed that change myself; he hired me almost as soon as he came to power. I was nearly as wary as you were, at first."

"Windblade doesn't seem to think he's any different."

"Windblade hasn't known him as long as I have. Which still isn't very long, granted." He sighed. "I understand why you'd want to believe her. I would, too, in your position. I'd want to be cautious."

"Then why shouldn't I be?"

"In many ways, you should. Starscream is still arrogant, conceited, snobbish... in short, he's going to make a terrible bondmate and while I wont pry, I'm not entirely sure why you agreed to take him on. But concerning his involvement with the Decepticons - I think he's grown disillusioned with them, to an extent."

Arcee snorted disbelievingly.

"You'd be surprised, Nightracer," Metalhawk insisted. "Before Starscream was ever loyal to the Decepticons he was loyal to Vos; and you've seen what Megatron's been doing to this city. Starscream's far from happy about it. He's trying to fight back where he can, but"-

"So it took a bunch of seekers being mistreated before he changed his ways, huh?"

"Neutrals, too," the advisor corrected quietly. "He'd already started sheltering us."

"I guess he had to. With Polaris and Red Wing and Sandstorm on his council."

"That's the thing, though," Metalhawk pressed. "Those three arrived here  _because_  he started helping Neutrals.

"He told me at the time it was a low-key protest against Megatron, when Vos had first begun to struggle."

A slight frown creased between Metalhawk's optics.

"Nightracer, if there's one thing I ask you not to argue about, it's this. I know you're starting to regret answering Starscream's request - and I can't blame you - but if it will give you any hope at all, I don't believe he's as unfeeling as you think he is. Even if it's only where Vos is concerned, that's better than nothing, surely?"

Arcee wasn't sure how to respond to that. She could tell Metalhawk meant well, but at the same time found that her answer to his question was a resounding  _no_. Starscream's concern for Vos and Vos alone spoke of prioritising the seekers - and that reminded her uncomfortably of the old caste system. So caught up in her musings was she that she almost missed the mech's next words.

"In any case, short of up and joining the Autobots, he's done all that he can to defy Megatron when it comes to this city."

Her gaze snapped back to Metalhawk in surprise - though thankfully he didn't notice. The advisor had been distracted by a high, electronic trill echoing over the nearby lattice. When Arcee registered the sound she too joined him in searching for the source.

"I hope I've helped you Nightracer - but even if I've not, I think you might get to see those lilleths now."

A slightly lower call replied to the first, reverberating from the opposite side of the clearing. As the pair watched a small, glittering glass bird hopped out from behind a crystal structure. It had a triangular head and a wide, flat tail of broad translucent shards - similar, but pointed, glass feathers comprised the wings.

The first call repeated again, and another lilleth appeared on top of the lattice behind them. This one's plumage was tinged blue where the other's shone purple and black. Arcee stared, optics wide. She couldn't remember seeing a wild one before. Mechs had kept them as pets before the war, but the undomesticated ones had long since died out by the time she'd been onlined.

Her wings twitched and the lilleth on the wall startled a little, taking to the air and landing further off. The purple bird trilled a questioning note up at it.

"Here."

Metalhawk handed her a small cluster of energon shards, moving slowly to avoid frightening the birds. When Arcee scattered the offering on the ground both lilleths hopped forwards, looking uncertain.

"They rely completely on raw energon to survive," Metalhawk murmured. "Not just as food - they weave it into the wiring of their nests, to nourish the eggs. That's partly why they died out - more and more mining meant less food for them."

The purple lilleth hummed, before darting forwards to peck at a fuel crystal.

"Are you the only one that feeds them?" Arcee inquired.

"Oh no - they seem to survive by themselves well enough; although I haven't seen many nests, so I don't think they're having an easy time of it. But Sandstorm comes out here occasionally, and I've seen a few workers from the side towers feeding them, too. And Polaris."

He must have seen the femme's expression twist at the mention of the chief councillor, as his face took on a quizzical look.

"What's wrong? Did she say something to you?"

"Not directly," Arcee admitted. "I heard it from Switchblade, but..." she heaved a heavy exvent.

"Metalhawk, you've been great reassuring me about bonding with Starscream. But that's not really what I was worried about earlier."

"Anything I can help you with?" The Neutral's amber optics flickered in concern.

Arcee opened her mouth to tell him 'no', but hesitated. She needed to talk to  _someone_  about this, but if she went to Windblade the bodyguard might ask awkward questions. And there wasn't really anyone else she trusted. Metalhawk seemed decent enough - she just hoped that her judgement proved sound, and he wouldn't divulge her story to anyone.

Besides, she wouldn't be telling him the whole truth.

"I... before I came to the citadel, I made a mistake," she began, voice low. "I can't tell you what it was - and  _please_ , don't tell anyone else about this - but it was... it was a  _big_  mistake. I had friends who died because of it. That's the main reason I agreed to come here - to escape what I did, so I wouldn't have to face people about it. Because my other friends don't... don't know..."

She rebooted her optics slowly, staring at her servos.

"If I'd stuck around, they would've found out. But now that I'm here, I'm trapped. I can't leave or really get around the citadel; and if the councillors have their way, once I'm bonded to Starscream I'll be stuck in the back tower bringing up sparklings. Because a former grounder hanging around the council chambers is too  _shameful_." She gathered that word like spoiled energon in the back of her throat, and spat it like the venom that had brought about Fowler's death.

"And I keep thinking I should never have come here. But if I'd stayed and admitted what I did... I never meant for it to happen, but once it did I couldn't stop it. They might not see that - some of them definitely wouldn't - but I don't if this was the better choice."

Arcee bit her lip as Metalhawk stared at her. She'd either judged him correctly, in which case he'd help her - or she'd made a horrible mistake and told him far too much.

One of the lilleths trilled again.

"You know..." Metalhawk began slowly. The femme was startled to see him smiling.

"None of these lilleths started out here in Vos. They must have decided eventually, I think, that the citadel was the best place for them. I'm sure they had things they wanted to get away from outside this city - predators and the like. And they don't have much control here, do they? But they're safe and reasonably happy, and..." The advisor's optics danced in amusement. "I think they've managed to change things in their own way. I didn't usually come out here before they showed up, and since they did Starscream's agreed that we need more measures in place to help them. This place isn't ideal for them, but they've made it their own. Something to consider, there."

Arcee allowed herself to smile, the weight on her spark lifting slightly.

"Thanks, Metalhawk. That's... that's really helped."

"My pleasure. Just remember - it might be worth coming out to visits the lilleths every now and again, from now on." He grinned. "You could learn a lot."

 

* * *

 

Arcee knew for certain that her judgement had been sound upon receiving a message from Starscream later:

:: _Metalhawk's spoken to me. Enclosed, you'll find access codes for around the citadel - the same level of clearance that Windblade's been afforded. See that you take her with you if you want to go out flying._ ::


	9. Chapter Eight: Scion

They were due to be bonded the following evening.

At least the physical  _bond_  would be happening then, in the privacy of Starscream's quarters; which were soon to become hers, too. Before that, she had to be presented and crowned as the Winglord's consort, and before  _that_  - now, in fact...

Now, she was about to sign herself over to a life with Starscream.

He met her at the foot of the stairs to the Chamber of Ceremonies (not to be confused with the ceremonial hall - exactly how many overwrought, cavernous rooms did the Vosnians need in this place?). The Winglord looked subdued for once, optics flickering nervously and expression grave, but his wings stood high on either side of his helm.

His servos were clasped behind his back. Her arms were crossed.

Starscream awkwardly rebooted his vocaliser.

"Shall we?"

He didn't offer his arm to her this time, which suited Arcee just fine.

Once the event was underway, some of her nerves left her, though she knew they'd only be lying in wait the following morning. For such a momentous point in her life, surprisingly there wasn't much fuss made about it. That would come later - tomorrow - although Arcee suspected that the actual bonding would have just as little ceremony attached to it.

Ironic, considering their location.

There was a datapad to sign; the act overseen by Polaris, Ramjet, Bitstream and Sandstorm (Switchblade was out of the city for the evening, and Red Wing hadn't deigned to show up). There was a seal to be stamped on the document, and words to be said that made it binding.

After that, there wasn't much else. The councillors offered their congratulations, as the group descended from the chamber at the top of the tower, and Arcee kept a gracious smile carefully plastered over her faceplates. As they passed the Winglord's office Starscream excused himself to go and collect something from within.

The others bid him farewell and headed onwards, but Arcee hung back. Apparently he'd expected this - he was still waiting outside the door.

"So..." he began, seemingly unsure how to continue. The femme could hear his digits tapping together, and glanced downwards. "Tomorrow's the day."

"Yeah," Arcee agreed, folding her arms. She looked up with a smirk, however, as a thought occurred to her.

"The day I find out if that statue in the courtyard's compensating for something."

She savoured Starscream's indignant exclamation as she walked away. There was no way she'd be feeling so cocky in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Come the morning, her tanks were churning. It took a couple of seconds to register what day it was; onlining in the too-large berth that never quite felt warm enough when she tried to fall asleep each night.

Arcee sat up groggily and kicked away the thermal sheeting that the berth had come with. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been afforded such a luxury before now - but she'd gladly swap for her narrow recharge slab back in the Autobot base. So long as it came with the return of Moonracer's company and the assurance that she wouldn't have to go through with today.

The femme hunched her shoulders, sitting and shivering in the centre of her behemoth of a berth, and stared dully at the wall as she contemplated the events ahead of her.

A faint knock at the door to her suite startled her out of her stupor. Arcee rebooted her optics several times before sliding to the edge of the bed, pushing herself upright, and making a weary beeline out of the berthroom and across the living area.

She opened the door and greeted Windblade with a surprised stare.

"Um... hi?" the bodyguard smiled. "Sorry, I know you weren't expecting me. There was a slight change of plan - Starscream thought you could use some help getting ready." She pulled a face at that. "Not that I'll be much use, but I can try! Oh, and I was supposed to give you this, too."

The Neutral lifted a heavy length of fabric up for Arcee's inspection. After a few sleepy seconds of study the Autobot realised it was a cloak.

Vosnian tradition dictated that she wear this for the ceremony. Crystal City had had a similar sort of custom for their Chancellors, she knew, and there was a town further out in the Stanix region that'd made such garments a feature of everyday life. Arcee, however, had no such experience with them: in the rehearsal a couple of days ago, she couldn't move for fabric tangled in her wing joints. They'd finally agreed that Windblade would have to assist her - and Metalhawk would do the same for Starscream, to cover the fact that Arcee had been struggling.

If it hadn't yielded that result, the Autobot would've found it ridiculous that she needed to practise walking from a door to a dais (despite Starscream's snide comments about her earliest lessons at the base). As it was, she'd resolved to be annoyed about the cloak custom itself, instead.

The one she was expected to wear was, apparently, purple - almost as if to add insult to injury.

Windblade was still looking at her, slightly expectantly. Arcee gave a "thanks" that sounded mumbled and indistinct even to her audios, ushered her in, and made for the washracks. She caught a glimpse of the bodyguard draping the cloak over a chair before the door slid shut.

With a heavy sigh, the Autobot slipped into the washrack cubicle and switched on the flow of solvent. She couldn't quite believe that the day was finally upon her. After weeks of nervous anticipation and worrying, everything was culminating for her to begin a new, terrifying phase in her life. And tonight...

Well, as the humans said, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Nevertheless, a shiver wracked her. She was willing enough, if not for the... usual reasons, but this was  _Starscream_. The interfacing couldn't be too bad, she supposed. And though Ratchet had had concerns about dark energon taint, he'd run tests and eventually concluded that the sample in Starscream's spark had somehow decayed, so there was little danger in that area.

Still, saying she had reservations about seeing inside the Winglord's spark was putting it mildly.

Much less about letting him see  _hers_.

 

* * *

 

Starscream hadn't recharged much. Perhaps not the best idea, given that he wouldn't be getting a great deal of sleep tonight, either - but even though he'd never admit it to anyone he was... apprehensive.

 _Not_  nervous. And definitely not within Arcee's hearing, though he didn't imagine she was faring any better.

He gave up on recharging completely once the sun rose; heading out onto one of the twin balconies that led from either side of his suite. Up here, the city of Vos glittered before him. The buildings might have been in poor repair, with broken roofs and boarded windows - some were dark altogether, lacking fuel to keep them running - but in the first light of morning, everything gleamed. A spectrum of gold and bronze, shot through with silver, stretched to the city's outer wall as the rising sun touched each turret and spire.

Already, seekers could be seen soaring above this spectacle: small black shapes brushing the underside of clouds that were retreating with the night. To the east, the sky was still bruised dusky purple.

Starscream had missed Cybetron's sunrises whilst away - it had never felt right, standing on alien planets and seeing the sun approaching from a different direction than he was used to. Here, looking out over his city, with dawn greeting him in the west and Vos shining bright in reply, the Winglord was overwhelmed with a feeling of  _home_.

And the femme who would help him protect said home was waiting downstairs.

That settled Starscream's resolve, though he remained outside for a good while longer; until a knock sounded at the door to his suite. Metalhawk come to help him prepare, no doubt.

Turning his back on sky and city alike, he went to admit his advisor.

 

* * *

 

Arcee emerged from the washracks and found herself face-to-face with Windblade, armed with a buffer and polishing cloths.

"Took you long enough in there," she grinned. "Now c'mon. You're gonna need my help with this - can't have scuffed patches on your wings just because you missed a spot."

"Yeah, cause that's the worst thing that could happen on my big day," Arcee replied. She laughed, though - the bodyguard was clearly making an effort to distract her from her nerves, which she appreciated.

"It's your screen debut too, though," Windblade protested, still smiling. "Imagine if our Lord Protector saw you on the Vosnian news frequency, with scrapes all over your wings." She screwed up her face in a scowl. "'This femme isn't fit for my second-in-command! Knock Out will have to bond with him instead - his finish is never scratched!'"

That made Arcee crack up in earnest - not least because Windblade's rasping growl was the worst impression of Megatron she'd ever heard.

"You know Knock Out, then?" she asked. "Or have you just seen him on the news frequencies?"

"Oh no, he's visited the citadel before," the bodyguard replied. "He and Starscream used to get along quite well, apparently, but they didn't seem on very good terms last time. Starscream was really short with him. Not sure why."

Arcee could guess at the reason for that; and her guesses were meandering in the distinct direction of the concealed Autobot base.

"Well, speaking of Starscream, I'd best get ready to meet him downstairs."

It didn't take long to get Arcee looking presentable with two of them working together. Knock Out she was not, but they did manage to remove all evidence of yesterday's session in the newly-completed sparring ring. Eventually Windblade pronounced herself satisfied with their work, and Arcee was inclined to agree with her - Polaris would probably find numerous ways to nitpick, but the Autobot had more pressing concerns than a little criticism. She wiped away a last mark on her wrist as the bodyguard retrieved the cloak from the couch.

The fabric hung heavily around her shoulders once the clasp was fastened. Folds of it whispered down her back between her wings, as Windblade pulled it out to full length, tickling the joints. Silently, Arcee prayed that she wouldn't mess up and trip, or embarass herself some other way. Her legs were shaking enough that she swore they were going to give out beneath her.

For some reason, her mind drifted to what Starscream might tell her in this situation.

_"You're a Winglord from here on out. Mistakes aren't an option - though I don't doubt that you'll make them anyway. Most likely in some misguided attempt to spite me, knowing your stubbornness."_

Well, maybe she'd disprove him this time. Windblade gathered up the end of her cloak where it trailed on the floor (why in Primus' name did it have to be so  _long_? The damned things weren't even practical when they were short). Inhaling deeply, Arcee activated the door controls and stepped into the passage beyond.

 

* * *

 

Starscream had retreated to the washracks after showing Metalhawk in, emerging again only when he was both clean and polished - though he did need the Neutral's help reaching his wings. His advisor had barely moved from where he'd been standing before, and gave his assistance in silence. Normally the Winglord would have used a drone for such things. However, it wasn't wise to entrust a drone with Metalhawk's other task: delivering the cloak and crown that Starscream would be wearing for the ceremony. The Neutral had offered to help him get ready, too, considering the occasion.

As the length of red cloth was lifted and pulled about his shoulders by Metalhawk, Starscream's gaze drifted to the gold circlet that it had sat beside. The crown was open in front, to allow for his helm crest, and bore no ornamentation besides some simple engravings.

Arcee would be presented with a similar one in silver, and he knew that she'd hate every minute of the process.

Still, there was no backing out for either of them now. Starscream picked up the gold band, motioned to Metalhawk, and stalked from the room.

It was a fair walk from the Winglord's suite to the council tower - but Starscream still reached his destination before Arcee. That wasn't surprising. She'd probably only bothered to wake up when Windblade called on her. He stood between the feet of the entrance hall staircases, tapping his own pede impatiently as he waited; still holding the crown in a servo.

According to a ping from Polaris he'd just missed the last of the guests being seen into the ceremonial hall, which was a relief. They were still on schedule, but he fully expected a follow-up, irritated message from his chief councillor if Arcee didn't show soon.

With a sigh of annoyance, Starscream turned to his advisor.

"Can't you contact Windblade and get them to hurry up?"

Metalhawk grinned and glanced towards the balcony.

"No need."

Starscream followed the Neutral's line of sight, just in time to see Arcee appear at the top of the left-hand staircase. She moved slowly, cautiously, and her back was ramrod straight. Her plating gleamed gunmetal grey and purple; her violet optics were bright and her helm was held high.

In short, Starscream grudgingly admitted, she looked every inch a Winglord.

The cloak she wore made her progress down the stairs difficult, even with Windblade assisting. There wasn't much he could do about that, though; it was traditional for both Crown Prince and consort to wear them.

Cloak, crown and chain of office - that was the triad of official royal garb in Vos. However, a trine-less Prince could not wear the chain. It symbolised a division of the rule between the three mechs concerned, as they wore one each; whether or not the Crown Prince had one served to indicate his level of power. A Prince without a trine could be said to be less sound of judgement: trines were designed to balance the members and their decisions, by placing mechs of different temperament together.

Starscream was excused from that assumption to an extent - he'd had a trine once, but now they were gone. Still, he would never wear the chain.

For the first time in a while, his thoughts drifted back to Thundercracker and Skywarp. He didn't like to dwell on their disappearance, but now he imagined what it would be like with them here today. Thundercracker would have been the one helping him prepare that morning in Metalhawk's place, while Skywarp lounged about cracking jokes and asking inane questions. They would've all found themselves in an argument at some point that Thundercracker would eventually resolve and now... both mechs would be standing beside him to follow him into the chamber (with Skywarp probably trying to offer tidbits of 'advice' for the evening later, no doubt).

Starscream discontinued those thoughts abruptly and squashed a pang of loneliness.

As his consort and not his trinemate Arcee, too, would have to be content with just the crown - though he knew she'd sooner cast it off than wear it at all.

His Intended (very soon to be bondmate, he thought, which prompted another wash of definitely-not-nervousness) had finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

She looked as apprehensive as he felt. Starscream opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn't sure, but he felt that he should offer encouragement. If only to keep up pretences in front of Metalhawk and Windblade. However, before any words could find their way from CPU to vocaliser, Arcee stepped forwards and made a grab at his left servo. Belatedly, he realised he was still holding the crown.

The femme took it from him and lifted it high, stretching to place the circlet atop his helm. She never would have reached before her upgrade.

"You'll bring the Wrath of Polaris down on you if you walk in there without your crown on," she teased. Starscream had expected her expression to be mocking, too. Yet when he looked down her smile was small but genuine.

She seemed to be doing a better job than him on the 'encouragement' front. It struck the mech as odd at first - until it occurred to him that she was likely trying to hide her own nerves.

He held out his servo, palm down and digits slightly curled. Arcee placed her own hand over the top.

"We'd be best to get this over with," Starscream said.

"Yeah..." the Autobot sighed. "I mean the difficult part comes later, right?"

Metalhawk and Windblade picked up the pair's trailing cloaks and their little procession moved steadily towards the doors of the ceremonial hall.

 

* * *

 

A good ninety percent of the base's occupants had gathered in the main room for this. Firestar was currently out in the field: waiting in disguise in the citadel's courtyard along with scores of Vosnians, who had congregated for the chance to see the Winglord and his new consort once the ceremony was over. Hound, too, had failed to show up, but that was understandable - he was in recharge, having returned from a long-haul recon mission just a day before. Needless to say, the story of Arcee's new position had come a shock when he got back.

Everyone else was there, though; crammed in around tables - even sitting on them in some cases - or, when it came to Bumblebee and Sideswipe, lounging on the floor.

Expressions ranged from stony to anxious. Moonracer was staring wide-eyed at the screen as they all waited for right story to show up. Perceptor took her servo in his and squeezed it reassuringly, but even that wasn't enough to put a dent in her worries.

"You still think you should have volunteered instead, don't you?" the scientist asked quietly.

The sharpshooter jumped, but just as quickly shook her head.

"No, I - I don't..." She bit her lip.

"... Maybe a little. But I probably couldn't have gone through with it, like she has."

"Would you have wanted to? Go through with it, that is."

"Neither of us  _wanted_  to."

"No, of course you didn't. I only meant"-

"Will you two lovebirds pipe down back there?" Chromia called over. "I think this is it."

Scientist and sniper sprang apart with heated faceplates, turning their attention to the screen at the front of the room. Where the newsfeed had previously been showing a piece on the Decepticons' latest conflict with Velocitron, it now displayed a live recording of a bustling, vaulted chamber where clouds of seekers clustered around the walls. An unseen reporter was describing the situation - not that Moonracer needed to listen. She knew it all in intimate detail, having been part of the plan initially, and her knowledge included things that would never make it onto a newsreel if Starscream wanted to keep his spark in its casing.

 _"... This is a big day for the city of Vos, but that doesn't mean the rest of Cybetron can't share in it. And if I'm not mistaken"_ \- a pause, presumably fact-checking - _"in a few kliks we should get our first glimpse of the femme who's captured the Winglord's spark!"_

Bulkhead snorted derisively, and Bumblebee shushed him with an irritated beep. Back on the screen, the doors to the hall were opening. Starscream and Arcee stepped through, hand-in-hand.

 

* * *

 

Just as on her arrival to the city, Arcee was once again taken aback by the turnout. It wasn't only councillors and undercouncillors crowding the hall, but also Vosnian military officers, with their badges; envoys from other cities - and, of course, a news crew. Apart from the occasional token grounder (mostly non-Vosnian, she guessed) the chamber was a sea of angular wings.

The femme absorbed all this information in the first split second as she walked through the door. After that Starscream noticed her staring; he jerked his servo beneath hers to attract her attention, and she resumed her forward-facing gaze.

Halfway to the wide dais at the other end Arcee stumbled as her pede caught on a trailing fold of fabric. The Winglord again moved his servo - this time twisting it round to grasp the femme's and help steady her.

They proceeded to the end of the hall with their hands intertwined, which prompted some interested stirring amongst the gaggle of news reporters.

On the steps of the dais Arcee knelt, casting a nervous glance behind her to check that Windblade was holding the cloak out of snagging reach. As she turned back, she caught Polaris' optics where the chief councillor stood to the side of the platform. Switchblade, just behind the monochrome femme, nodded encouragingly; but the femme herself remained stony-faced, her back straight and rigid as a pillar.

Arcee took the hint and focused back on Starscream.

A spindly, anxious attendant had found his way onto the dais, and presented the Winglord with a silver circlet - almost identical to the gold one that Arcee had placed on his helm just moments before. Her optics followed its progress as Starscream lifted the crown in his servos, pausing to hold it directly above the kneeling femme.

"Nightracer of Praxus. You stand here to take your place as Consort to the Winglord of Vos."

Starscream's voice carried clearly over her helm to reach around the hall. Arcee recalled that said helm was supposed to be bowed and quickly ducked it.

"Do you, Nightracer, accept this honour"- the Autobot suppressed a snort of laughter -"to be your right, through agreement and duty, as granted to you by the city and council of Vos?"

"I do."

Her own voice was far too quiet in the echoing space - but she couldn't repeat the vow louder. Starscream had already moved on.

"Do you pledge your care and protection to state and citizens; and both your support and your counsel to your Winglord, until the day that you rejoin the Well of All Sparks?"

_If that day comes, Megatron'll send you in after me._

"I do."

Thankfully, that one had more volume to it.

"Above all, do you swear loyalty and love to the city of Vos by giving your spark to its Winglord, as I..."

The briefest hesitation, but she caught it.

"... As I shall give you mine?"

"I do."

Only Arcee heard Starscream release a heavy exvent, as he lowered his arms.

"Then by the power invested in me as chosen Winglord of Vos, I hereby crown you as my Consort."

The silver band settled on her helm with a soft metallic  _chink_. She could feel his servos shaking through the contact.

"Arise, Nightracer of Vos."

He offered a servo to help her to her pedes, and so she stood - moving slowly and gracefully, feeling the cloak brushing down between her wings. Her ascent seemed to go on forever as she pulled herself up and up and up, miles of fabric rising behind her.

Maybe that was wishful thinking on her part, hoping that she'd be trapped in this instant forever and not have to go through with the bond. Yet in the space of a second she was upright, (almost) on optic level with Starscream, with a crown around her helm and her servo still in his.

They'd rehearsed the next bit enough times. Arcee stretched up to meet Starscream's height, and the mech pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was over almost as soon as it began, but it seemed to be enough for the audience. Applause rang out around the room as Winglord led Consort back down the steps of the dais. Arcee wasn't sure why they needed to clap for so  _long_ , when all the pair had done was say a few words, but she quickly abandoned that thought in order to concentrate on not tripping over her cloak again. Metalhawk and Windblade rushed up to help.

Seekers lined their path back down the centre of the hall, and directly on Arcee's right stood Polaris. To the Autobot's surprise, the councillor gave an approving nod and very nearly smiled upon meeting her optics; far more reserved than Sandstorm opposite her, who had clasped Starscream's servo and was giving her sparkfelt congratulations. She offered Arcee a friendly, genuine grin - and the other femme couldn't help returning it.

_Two parts down, one to go._

Although this one wasn't completely over yet. The couple's progress down the hall was slow, as they kept getting waylaid by various mechs of apparent import, but eventually they passed through the double doors at the end. Now, their destination lay outside the citadel.

Starscream and Arcee made it about halfway to the stairs, in the sudden quiet of the entrance chamber, before the first guests began to straggle after them. The chatter and noise bled back through after that.

Bitstream squeezed between the press of wings and bodies to walk at Starscream's side. Arcee couldn't quite hear what they were discussing, but the Winglord's old friend was grinning broadly.

The femme felt an odd sort of gladness for her new Consort (not bondmate yet, she reminded herself, vowing to savour that knowledge for the few short hours it held true). The sensation was twinged slightly with jealousy, too - but at least one of them had a friend by their side for such a momentous event. She supposed Starscream was lucky that Bitstream had survived long enough to be made a councillor, taking up a post close to him.

"Psst!"

Actually, she realised, Starscream  _wasn't_  the only one with a friend nearby. Carefully, Arcee leaned back a little, glancing over her shoulder at Windblade.

"You holding up alright?" the bodyguard whispered.

A nod was all the Autobot could give in reply. At that moment they reached the citadel's front doors, which slid open to admit a wall of sound louder even than the one within the hall.

Starscream turned his attention back to his consort, taking her servo once again. His optics were overbright, though he didn't smile.

_I'm not the only one who's worried, then._

It was her turn to guide him, it seemed - at least, until he visibly regained some sense of pride underneath the doorframe and decided that was his job after all.

The cheering outside increased in volume as they appeared on the citadel's front steps. Arcee couldn't blame them: with the way Vos was treated, doubtless its citizens had had precious little to shout about for a while.

For that reason, she let a smile split her faceplates. Her left servo dropped to her side, still holding Starscream's, whilst her right rose to wave at the crowd, conducting yet another crescendo in their celebration.

As the Winglord beside her followed her example, Arcee scanned the gathered Vosnians for a glimpse of Firestar - Prowl had messaged to say she'd be being watched by an Autobot envoy. Her efforts took in seekers tall and short, handfuls of slender grounders and one or two blocky ones; most sporting dull plating or muted colours, but all smiling brightly.

She watched a grinning youngling scrambling onto its creator's shoulders for a better view, and was struck by the realisation that they'd all be looking up to her, now. Nightracer or no, she had sworn a vow before the city (quite literally - Arcee noted screens set up in the square that would've televised the ceremony). She was bound to protect and care for all she saw before her; if not because of a false promise, then to maintain her cover.

The very seekers she so resented were now hers to watch over, and though she felt her resentment was justified, she wouldn't -  _couldn't_  - reject this new task.

Besides, Starscream would know the long-buried reason for her opinion on seekers soon enough; and she doubted he'd excuse her from her new duties on those grounds.

On the subject of the Winglord, it was getting a little boring just standing and waving. Arcee decided to give the Vosnians more reason to celebrate.

_Let's see how well you can improvise, 'Scream._

The femme stretched onto the tips of her pedes once again, tucked a digit under Starscream's chin, and pulled him into another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Moonracer could hardly believe it was Arcee she was watching; painted purple and grey with a cloak around her shoulders and crowned as the Winglord's Consort.

Then her friend kissed Starscream in front of a crowd of cheering seekers, and Bulkhead stormed from the room with a noise of disgust.

"It's just an act," Chromia called after him - but she was ignored.

"You're sure?" Moonracer asked.

"'Course I am. You know Cee as well as I do. Throwing Starscream off by pulling something like that - it's just like the snarky comments she makes if she wants the upper servo in an argument. Only a bit less... verbal."

The sniper looked unconvinced and Chromia rolled her optics.

"Don't tell me she's never said something like that to you. When she first started training she was a fragging fountain of sarcasm - until I knocked it out of her a bit."

"She never kissed ya though, did she?" Ironhide rumbled.

"Leave off, 'Hide," Chromia chided, so quietly that Moonracer almost missed it. "She's supposed to do stuff like that now she's in character. And if she's only messing with 'Scream to take her mind off...  _later_ , I say let her."

The sharpshooter bit her lip at that. If Arcee hadn't volunteered,  _she'd_  be wearing that crown and contemplating 'later' instead.

She glanced back at the viewscreen. The kiss had long since ended, but Starscream still had a slightly stunned look on his faceplates following Arcee's surprise attack. Said culprit had resumed waving at the seekers, but as Moonracer watched the pair moved to head back inside.

Her optics stayed fixed on the screen even when the couple disappeared; staring after the friend she should never have doubted. Who was going through all of this so that Moonie wouldn't have to.

Not a friend, she decided. A sister.

 

* * *

 

Once the cloaks were off and the crowns away, Arcee didn't see Starscream until the evening.

No crowds or news crews attended her progress to the Winglord's chambers: she padded along corridors and up staircases on a solitary journey, passing windows full of sunset and others that had already fallen to the encroaching dusk.

His was the northernmost tower. Arcee made it to the last, top landing - and paused, gazing out at the view that opened over the citadel. Stretching right across the wall from east to west, tall windows displayed the evening sky like a softly-glowing painting - though the inky spill of darkness was creeping across to cover the light.

She watched for a few moments more then, mouth set in a hard line, turned and knocked on the door to Starscream's suite.

He answered almost immediately - and why not? He'd been expecting her; had been expecting this moment since she stood up in the middle of the Autobot base and offered herself in Moonracer's place.

Wordlessly, Arcee took his servo as she crossed the threshold and led him towards the berth.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Deed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this is the chapter that those tags warn about - here be robosmut! 
> 
> If that's not your thing then it is skippable: just scroll down to the second line break and read from there.

"You know, it might be an idea to lock the door first."

Arcee dropped his servo and sat down heavily on the berth. The damn thing was even bigger than the one she'd left behind - enough for two seekers to be uncomfortably swamped.

"Go ahead. But make it quick."

"Eager, aren't we,  _Nightracer_?"

"I just want this over with," the femme snapped back. "Don't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes."

True to his word, Starscream walked back to the door and activated the locking mechanism. Arcee watched him, pulling her pedes up beneath her on the berth, and tried to stop her spark from pounding.

"So..." Her new consort made no move from where he now stood. "How did you want to go about this?"

"First off, you could work on the pick up lines," the femme replied. When all she received for that was an eyeroll, she continued. "I'm guessing that's your way of asking what gets me revved up?" Arcee hoped he'd stop being so indirect pretty sharpish. The sooner they interfaced the sooner they could sparkmerge, and put the whole thing behind them - at least for a night.

Starscream made a noncommittal sort of noise - but he refused to meet her optics, so she took it for a 'yes'.

"Well before we do anything else, I want to take this one thing at a time. If that's alright with you. No sparks until we're done interfacing. And I'm gonna tell you now - those claws aren't going anywhere near my valve. But..." She pulled a face before going on, not quite believing it was  _Starscream_  of all mechs she was discussing this with.

"I'm still... getting used to the whole seeker frametype thing. If you've got any expert advice to share, that could be somewhere to start."

"A continuation of your lessons, then." He had finally turned to look at her, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"If you want to call it that. So," Arcee swung her legs round to sit stretched out on the berth. "Where do I start,  _sir_?"

Perhaps she was playing up the bravado a bit too much. At the last word Starscream froze, before blinking and rebooting his vocaliser awkwardly. Again, he looked away from her, and a corner of Arcee's CPU began to entertain the notion that he was flustered for different reasons than first appeared.

She quickly declared that corner off-limits for the rest of her thoughts.

"I thought we wanted this over with quickly."

Her comment spurred the mech into motion - he moved to stand beside the berth, before hesitating.

"I have your consent, then?"

"I wouldn't be here if you didn't. Just get on with it - you sound like that fragging contract we had to sign."

"Well, in that case..."

The next moment, he'd run a claw up the side of her wing joint. Arcee gasped at the shiver that produced, and she  _knew_  he was smirking outright now.

"I think you'll find the joints to be quite sensitive," Starscream informed her. She looked up to meet the glint in his optics and scowled.

"This was what you wanted, wasn't it? Or would you prefer that I focus on the wingtips?"

He pinched one of these as he spoke, brushing his opposable digit over a spot that proved particularly responsive. Arcee was used to having her wing _lets_  played with during interface - which were fairly sensitive in themselves - but this was on a whole other level. Her sensornet lit up, the wing in question twitched, and she had to grit her teeth to stop a groan escaping.

Starscream's laughter sounded next to her audial, and she realised she probably looked like a newbuild on her first night.

"Stop gloating."

"Who said I was? If it's any consolation, I've heard this is quite normal for grounders who convert." He sat down on the berth, behind her. Talons stroked up both of her wing joints this time - and the gentleness of the touch took her by surprise. Enough that she visibly shivered.

There was something of a low-level charge going by now. Arcee almost regretted how quickly that'd happened; but for remembering how long it'd been since she'd last interfaced.

It occurred to her that the same was probably true for Starscream. The next time a thumb ran over her wingtip the femme gave a small, yet audible moan, and smiled to herself when his touch stalled for a nanoklik.

"Something wrong, 'Scream?"

"... Not at all. Though I must say, I didn't think the change would affect you quite this strongly."

Perhaps she should up her game.

Clawtips wormed their way into the base of her wing joint, and she didn't have to fake a reaction that time. Annoyingly, that prompted Starscream to start exploring gaps in the armour at her hip.

Arcee was just wishing that she could get at his wings to turn the tables, when the mech's digits found a cluster of wires near her waist and twisted. She swallowed another moan, but he still seemed to gauge the effect it'd had. A hum of amusement testified this; which evolved into outright laughter when another twist prompted a groan that she couldn't hold back.

The femme decided she was thoroughly fed up with Starscream having control.

"Shut.  _Up!_ "

She rolled and took him with her as he gave a yelp, slamming heavy black pauldrons back against the berth; seating herself atop his chest.

The Winglord gaped up at her - probably surprised, but the slightly dimmed optics made it equally likely that the slagger was turned on by this role reversal. Idly, Arcee remembered the last time she'd had him at her mercy like this: both of them upright, not flat on a berth, and with a blade against his throat.

Well, at least she wasn't intending to harm him this time. A mocking smile took root.

"Do I have your consent?"

"If you didn't, you wouldn't still be sitting there," Starscream threw back; before gasping as Arcee's digits reached down and found the base of his wing. She plucked at a wire in the joint and distinctly felt his hips shift behind her.

"What was that about it only being  _new_  seekers?"

She received no more than a glare in reply. And the Winglord's servo somehow locating her wingtip again. Too late, she realised that the wings in question had been hanging at rest down her back: easy targets. Arcee's own hands tensed against Starscream's shoulders, her back arching slightly as she gave a hiss of pleasure.

At the same time, talons slid up to her hip on the other side - their tips resting dangerously close to her aft. Apparently her consort was starting to enjoy this.

Then she caught sight of his undeniably lecherous grin.

Definitely  _enjoying it._

She really wasn't sure how to feel about that.

 

* * *

 

Starscream wasn't entirely sure how to feel about this.

On the one hand, he knew Arcee despised him - and the feeling was more or less mutual, if slightly less vehement on his part. That didn't exactly make for the most promising prospects this evening. Although it was only one night, he still hadn't been expecting to get much pleasure from it.

On the other, however, there was...  _this._  An odd sort of reality when compared to his misgivings, though not entirely one he could complain about.

He'd had a plan in place, as it happened. Starscream wasn't completely blind to the effect Arcee's new life was having on her, and had eventually drawn the reluctant conclusion that allowing her control in this, at least, would make things easier for both of them. The plan had mainly consisted of making the femme irritated enough that she took control by herself - the Winglord would prefer to keep his pride reasonably intact around her - but it  _had_  worked.

... A little too well, truth be told. What Starscream had not anticipated was that as Arcee had gotten riled up, he'd gotten  _revved_  up. Which was only understandable really, but he tried to conceal it nevertheless.

Such a task was getting harder and harder, however (though he wasn't quite yet at the stage where that qualified as a double entendre). The femme atop his chassis was busily coming undone as he explored wingtip and hip, it was true (that nerve cluster at her waist had certainly been an interesting discovery) - but his admittedly self-satisfied smile was quickly wiped away as Arcee slid backwards and her servos brushed down his chest. Her digits lefts shivers on his plating in their wake. Soon they were at the vents either side of his cockpit and - oh  _Primus_ , those were sensitive.

Starscream gave the wingtip in his grasp a particularly rough caress by way of retaliation, but the damage was done. He was unable to conceal a grunt of pleasure as she toyed with circuitry and thin metal slats; and there was no way that she missed the  _click_  of his cooling fans activating. His spike - already mildly interested in the current proceedings - stirred behind its panel.

The panel that Arcee was currently sat right on top of.

It was the femme's turn to wear the slag-eating grin. Optics bright with amusement, she rocked her hips into his; and Starscream was sure he heard a slight murmur of laughter as he groaned, cable now pushing insistently against cover.

Arcee leaned forwards in her movements and stretched out a servo to rub the mech's wingtip. He was only marginally pleased when this backfired - her cooling fans switched on, but it was in response to the noise that had escaped his vocaliser at the sensation. That didn't exactly do much to claw back any dignity.

Starscream gave a quiet snarl and sent his EM field flaring in reply, engulfing the femme in an echo of the charge he'd built up. At the same time his servo slid up her leg; opposable digit circling lightly over her valve cover. Arcee shifted her rocking motions to centre on that with a low, pleasured moan.

She had her optics closed. Presumably so she could focus on the sensations and not their source - the Winglord decided that engaging her in more conversation at present wouldn't be the best course of action.

Instead, he directed his attention to upping the pressure over her valve. That was met with largely positive feedback, if the increasing volume of her response was any indication; and when on a whim he ran a talon along the edge of her new heel fin Arcee gave a near-shout, jerked her leg minutely - and the cover to her port slid open.

Remembering her earlier comment, Starscream immediately moved his servo out of harm's way. That, apparently, was  _not_ what the Autobot wanted: she cracked one optic open to glare at him.

"Just cause I don't want your claws in there doesn't mean I want you to stop."

"Well if you'd move long enough for me to get my spike out..."

He expected her to sit backwards onto his legs - instead, Arcee slid up to his cockpit. A bead of lubricant sliding down the glass was enough to draw his attention to the femme's port; and hold it there as he hesitantly extended a servo again. Crooking a digit, he brushed his knuckle against her external node and watched, exvents growing somewhat shallow as Arcee drew a hissing intake and the lips of her valve chased the intrusion.

More fluid dripped down over his claws. The femme seemed to have forgotten her previous comment to him - but as another moan escaped her his spike throbbed and he bit his lip, sending a silent command to open his codpiece.

His spike extended, but the femme above him was still preoccupied with the digit in her valve. As she ground down against his hand her aft brushed his now-erect cable, quickly building up a maddening charge in the mech. Her eyes were closed again - but her helm was thrown back, so she was clearly doing a decent job of forgetting exactly whose servo she was fragging.

Though in his current state, Starscream would've preferred to have a different part of his anatomy in that position.

He withdrew his knuckle from her port, which was accompanied by the faintest noise of protest until Arcee caught herself. Smirking, the mech reached for her hips to guide her back onto his spike, but she got there first; bracing her servos on his vents (one or two digits slipped between the slats to tease again, he didn't fail to notice) and lowering herself down until he felt the clench of mesh and callipers around the head of his cable.

She kept herself suspended there, moving her hips in the tiniest taunting circles. Starscream groaned in frustration and tried to pull her downwards, one servo moving to knead her aft.

It occurred to him that he was playing directly into her hands, so to speak, here - but at this point he didn't particularly care.

"What... what happened to -  _ngh!_ " - her port gave a very deliberate and distinctly unfair squeeze around his spike tip - "... to wanting this over with quickly?"

"Mm, I think I've changed my mind." Arcee was grinning, a dangerous glint in her newly-open optics; if anything, that made Starscream's cable stiffen further. "I hate you, but I  _do_  kinda like seeing you like this."

The Winglord would've sooner seen  _her_  sat on his spike. He was the one that wanted to move things along now, if for rather different reasons to the femme. Insistently, he tugged at her hips again, before bucking his own with a grunt as she slid further down his length.

She'd apparently decided to be merciful: within another couple of nanokliks their pelvic plating was flush with one another's, and Arcee was voicing her approval in tandem with her consort's as she resumed rocking her hips. He reciprocated with a rhythm of shallow thrusts and that approval grew louder.

"You seem to be enjoying this."

"Yeah, I am - long as I pretend you're someone else." She seemed more sure of herself now - likely due to the hold she had over him in the form of the slick, tight heat he was buried in. "I can't remember the last time I had a half-decent frag.

"Gotta say, I didn't think you'd be this big."

Starscream had been quite happily slipping into a haze of pleasure, as the femme's valve rippled around his cord - but at her comment he pushed himself up onto his elbows with an indignant protest.

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean, exactly?!"

Arcee only smirked at him, before lifting herself almost completely off his spike and dropping back down again. The Winglord briefly forgot his mechhood had been insulted, in favour of reclaiming his hold on the femme's waist and driving deeper into her. That at least replaced her smile with dimmed optics and parted lips.

Arcee leant forwards, her servos back on his chest. Her EM field was buzzing and loose as she neglected to control it; distracted as she was by the head of Starscream's spike against her ceiling node.

It was as he watched her, exvents laboured on both their parts now, that he suddenly twigged.

"The statue."

"Among other things." Arcee had bowed her head to stare directly down at him, and her violet optics were bright. Starscream wasn't entirely sure why, but his sparkbeat quickened; he prayed she wouldn't feel it where her servos were braced on his chassis.

Then he registered what she'd said.

" _Other things?_ "

He would've pressed the point - had the femme not decided to squeeze her valve in a sudden, sharp contraction around his spike. The Winglord couldn't make much more of an argument than a wordless shout, talons scrabbling against Arcee's hips.

Primus help him, he wasn't going to last much longer.

Above him, his consort took up her circling motions again, rather more energetically; seemingly drawing the same conclusion. Starscream's movements had grown more erratic after that last surprise, but now he made an effort to thrust into her harder, adjusting the angle of Arcee's hips over his to better reach her ceiling node.

It didn't take long before Arcee arched her back and gasped. A string of curses escaped her vocaliser, only to be cut off by a near scream as she overloaded; digits dragging scratches down Starscream's chestplate and valve clenching rhythmically, frantically, around his length. That was more than enough to send the Winglord over the edge. He wasn't sure if it was Arcee's valve drawing him in tight or the sight of her above him that was responsible - but either way Starscream added his voice to hers, talons vice-like in their grip as transfluid spilled from his spike.

(The moment he was spent, he assured himself that seeing Arcee in overload would have done that to anyone. She was undeniably attractive - for a former two-wheeler - and he doubted that even her fellow Autobots would deny it).

As soon as  _she_  was finished, Arcee rebooted her optics and pulled herself somewhat abruptly off her consort's now-flagging spike. Starscream flinched with a slight squeak - and tried not to focus on the mix of fluids that stained the femme's thighs.

And dripped from her valve.

Hastily, Starscream averted his optics, grateful at least that Arcee was now clambering off the berth. Despite his efforts, he felt a twitch of interest from the direction of his pelvic plating. Or rather, where his pelvic plating currently  _wasn't_.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and attempted to cover himself with his servos, before realising that the femme had reached the other side of the room.

"Where are you"-

"Washrack," Arcee replied shortly. "I don't want to be covered in transfluid for the next bit."

"There are such things as cleaning cloths, you know."

"I just need some time to cool off."

 _And to collect herself for what's to come, no doubt,_  Starscream thought. He couldn't begrudge her that, feeling much the same way himself. The interfacing was the easy bit. It wasn't even necessarily required, but if Megatron found them to have omitted it he'd use it as an excuse to declare their bond incomplete.

Fragging was something they were both well-versed in. Sparkmerging, on the other hand...

Starscream inhaled deeply, trying to slow his sparkbeat. (As the door to the washrack slid closed he also tried to avoid dwelling on what Arcee would look like under the solvent spray. The situation was awkward enough without him wanting to repeat the experience).

Scowling, he went in search of a cleaning cloth.

 

* * *

 

Arcee didn't want to admit she'd enjoyed that. As cleanser ran in rivulets between her wings and down her legs, she tried to forget how long it'd been since her last interface before this.

Another thing she needed to drive from her mind was how easily Starscream had got her wanting. Reassuring herself that her new, somewhat sensitive wings shouldered most of the blame didn't do much to quell her embarrassment. At least she'd turned the tables on him eventually.

There wasn't really any way to gain the upper hand for the next bit, though. All she could do was remember that Starscream would be just as insecure, and hope that things went smoothly.

Sighing, the femme switched off the solvent, stepped onto the cool tiles of the washrack floor, and quickly dried herself off with a cloth. The room itself was yet another display of slightly tarnished opulence on Starscream's part. More polished white metal covered the walls and floor - though here certain upkeep standards had clearly been maintained, as there was none of the oily sheen from the main staircase. Even through the hazy steam lingering after Arcee's wash, the panels shone. A huge oil bath dominated the centre of the room (she squashed a twinge of jealousy), with the cubicle she'd just vacated off to one side. Neither were in perfect repair - chips, scuffs and water spots were evident - but it was a marked improvement on the dusty equivalent in the femme's old suite.

From the Autobot base to rooms at the citadel, to the Winglord's private chambers... she really was going up in the world.

Said Winglord was stood by a window when she left the washracks. His optics met hers briefly before resuming their focus on the sky outside. Night had stretched its way over the city by now, and as Arcee approached her consort she tried to count the tiny spots of starlight pricking at the darkness.

She made it to twenty and couldn't find any more.

"There'll be more out over Kaon," she murmured. "You can see most of the southern constellations on a good night - the Golden Disk, the Key..."

"And the Void, presumably?" Starscream asked, gaze still fixed outwards.

"That's harder to spot than you'd think. Springer showed me, once. It's not empty sky you want - there's loads of that - it's the pattern of stars around it. You don't go looking for what's not there; you look for the bits you can see. The familiar bits. That's the trick."

"Well, there's plenty of empty sky out there. Not nearly enough stars, though - pollution will do that where bright lights don't exactly manage, here."

"That was one of the things I hated, when we first got here, actually," Arcee agreed. "Not being able to see the stars. It must've been amazing to go flying up there before the war."

Starscream remained silent. The femme debated waving a servo in front of his face, but settled on brushing her digits against his before moving away.

"Come on. We've got a contract to fulfil."

The Winglord gave a slight start and finally dragged his optics away from the sky. He began following her to the berth, but Arcee was struck by an idea. She turned to face him again and reached for his shoulders, guiding him round until he was looking back out at the window.

She could only assume it was nerves that had made him so passive.

At the femme's prompting he took one, two, steps backwards, and stopped when the backs of his legs hit the berth. The sound rang sharply, in a hush produced by two people who were uncertain whether words would make things easier or shatter the tentative peace.

Starscream barely had time to sit down before Arcee lowered herself into his lap.

"I... I'll go first, shall I?" he offered.

The Autobot nodded, her hands still braced against him. His own digits clinked quietly against her waist as one servo rose to steady her.

Scarlet optics flickered minutely and closed when the Winglord bowed his helm.

A deep intake was all the warning she received - it shuddered up through his shoulders to where she held him, before Starscream's chestplate began to shift. Layer by layer, armour and protomatter receded or spiralled outwards; pieces that made up the mech in front of her whispering over each other with clicks and rasps. Faint silvery light shone through the gaps, growing stronger every second as Starscream's plating unfurled like petals to expose his core.

Suddenly, Arcee was staring at the flat, impassive and slightly luminous expanse of her consort's sparkchamber. She could hear a quiet electrical hum behind the surface, and was half tempted to place a servo over it, to feel that pulse for herself.

Then she remembered  _whose_  spark was hidden in there.

"Open up." Her voice was harsh against his nervous intakes.

Starscream's optics flew open again and he opened his mouth - possibly considering a protest at her tone - but nevertheless, with a barely-audible  _click_  the doors of his sparkchamber slid apart.

Arcee's breath quickened as she stared at Starscream's life force: a pulsing, twisting orb of raw energy, that she couldn't quite believe contained everything she knew of this mech and more. Patterns of crackling light rippled around its corona, and at the core it was almost grey - and strangely dense, as though something was weighing it down.

The occasional touch of purple flickered across the edges of his spark, too, and despite Ratchet having reassured her on this point, Arcee still found her mouth twisting at the sight. The mech seemed to notice that; he moved his servo from her waist to her arm, prompting her to meet his gaze.

"It won't affect you," he said. "Ratchet's surely told you - once Dark Energon meets a spark, it decays. Quite rapidly. All you're seeing are remnants."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Perhaps you should have considered this before volunteering, then," Starscream retorted. "As it is, you can't exactly turn back now. We either finish this, or we lose everything to Megatron."

And Arcee couldn't argue with him. She'd gotten herself far enough into this mess already - there wasn't much more to do but see it through.

 _Besides, what's a bit of possible Dark Energon poisoning when you're bonded to_ Starscream _?_

She supposed that it was her turn, now. Pressing her lips together, the femme went searching for rarely-seen protocols; ones that she'd used maybe once a millennium for medical checks. It was strange how much weight they now held.

As she felt her own plating shifting to bare her to Starscream, Arcee's optics drifted back to the mech's spark. With a jolt, she realised she was seeing Starscream at the most vulnerable he could ever be.

She could place her servo over that ball of light right now,  _and close it and keep squeezing until I send you to join Cliffjumper in the Well, for everything you've done..._

Yet here she was, about to give her spark to him instead. She wondered what Cliff would say about  _that_.

The mech's hand twitched minutely on her waist, and Arcee's thoughts jerked back to reality. Glancing at his wide optics she realised he was probably fighting a similar urge to touch - though Starscream's expression was almost one of awe. Somehow, she doubted he had the same motives in mind.

"You ready?" the femme asked quietly, and it was the Winglord's turn to snap out of whatever he was contemplating. There wasn't much point in sitting and staring all night. They had... well, for lack of a better expression, they had a job to do.

That was all it was, really. A job. A terrifying one that would lead them into completely uncharted and wholly bizarre territory; but one they couldn't avoid if they valued their lives.

Starscream looked even more scared than she felt (though she knew he'd like to think he was hiding it), but he nodded.

"On three, then." She inhaled and closed her optics. "One..."

There was tentative, nervous fumbling as they leaned towards each other. Arcee hurriedly aimed her face away from Starscream's, resting her chin on his shoulder as her arms slid down his back.

"Two..."

She felt the buzz of his spark's corona against hers and flinched slightly, gritting her denta. His arm had come to encircle her waist - as the charge of their centres meeting grew stronger, his hold tightened.

There were faint whispers of a second presence creeping into her CPU: flashes of colour and distant memory; and something was drawing her onwards. A strange, electric attraction began in her chest and fizzed right the way through her frame, digits and pede-tips tingling. Arcee wanted to pull away and press further in all at once - overwhelmed by the almost primal feel of it, but at the same time desperate to complete the connection her spark was straining for.

Starscream shifted slightly in apparent discomfort, seeming to notice her hesitation. It was starting to grow painful, suspended on the edge like this.

Arcee released the last of her intake.

_I'm so, so sorry, Cliff..._

" _Three._ "

Their cores brushed one another, and she moved against Starscream until her chestplates met his with a soft, metallic  _chink_. Arcee barely heard it; too caught up in the sudden influx of sensation that radiated from their connection.

She couldn't feel her own spark anymore. That realisation sent a flare of panic through her side of the bond and she started pushing the other way, her servos scrabbling up to shove at the mech's pauldrons.

She was losing herself in Starscream, and it terrified her.

Vague, disjointed images were swirling through her processor now, stronger than before. She saw a panorama of glittering spires that could only have been Vos in its glory days; viewed by someone soaring high enough to brush the clouds. A face flashed past her that she recognised for its monochrome paintjob: Polaris, though her optics were blue and not the amber she now sported. She looked younger, and wore an expression of almost motherly concern.

With a start, Arcee realised that she - no,  _Starscream_  - had been lying on a medical berth.

And now she was  _really_  panicking.

As she tried to pull her spark away, the Winglord's other arm rose to hold her in place, and with that movement she was Arcee again, and the berthroom was growing dark around her. The memories still hadn't stopped, but they had retreated - she concentrated on Starscream's exvents next to her audio and tried not to let herself slip under again.

"If it's any consolation," the mech murmured, "I just relived that incident in the canyon from your point of view. It was more than a little surreal, believe me."

"This whole thing's surreal," Arcee replied, before submerging herself for a second time.

Now, she tried to control her passage a little. The fragments of Starscream's consciousness were growing brighter around her, and she felt twinges of thought that were not hers.  _Lost_  was the first, and for the briefest second she wasn't sure which of them felt it. Pride came next, unsurprisingly.

_Probably still on his mind after interfacing._

_I heard that!_

_Sorry._

Then, out of nowhere, the faintest brush of loneliness. It had a lurking sort of presence, as though it never really left the mech.

Arcee decided to follow it.

She was pulled now through strangely vivid memories, where the underlying tone from his spark was almost...  _happy_. The loneliness still followed, however; tracking her through scenes that featured two particular mechs. Both were more heavily-armoured than her... than Starscream - but the purple one stood distinctly shorter, and wore an almost-permanent teasing grin, where the taller was serious and a little more slender.

And one word linked through all of this, supplied in an almost subconscious way; one learned and ingrained to the point that it didn't even need to be thought about.

_Trine._

The femme was overcome, all of a sudden, with the realisation of just how deeply into Starscream she was seeing. Somehow it wasn't right, even in spite of their situation.

Shying away from thoughts of her -  _his_  - trine (and the all-too-familiar sensations of  _loss_  that told her far more than she felt she should know), Arcee delved back into the swirling mass that was Starscream.

He was chaotic. That notion strengthened as the bond took hold. She saw that her new sparkmate was someone who could easily get lost in his own self, never quite sure of what he wanted; and his spark felt strangely vulnerable around her.

He wanted to rule. He wanted respect, and recognition. He wanted his city, and all the risk that commanding it came with. He wanted safety. He wanted Megatron's post, and to  _be_  Megatron, and to never become this mech he so hated, all at once.

He'd wanted the world ever since he'd promised it to himself, but had never quite been able to reach...

_She wanted her trine back._

No. It was getting harder and harder for Arcee to tell where she ended and Starscream began, but she wasn't ready to let go just yet. To remind herself of that, the femme focused on losses  _she'd_  felt - not Thundercracker and Skywarp (their names presented themselves with a disconcerting ease), but Tailgate and Cliffjumper. She alone had felt their loss, and she was Arcee because of it - not Starscream.

_Tailgate and Cliffjumper._

She repeated their names like a mantra, building herself an anchor from the words.

_Tailgate and-_

_Cliff!_

He was there! Right there in front of her, his optics blue and his body whole; not the warped, Unicron-stained monster she'd last set eyes on.

Cliff wasn't happy to see her, though. His expression was hard and he looked... tired, like he'd just come out the wrong end of a fight. Nevertheless, she found herself smiling. She reached out to touch his face, and confirm that this was really her partner, returned to her.

_Primus, I've missed you._

... Something was wrong. Her servo was rising, yes, but it wasn't curved for a caress. And it was lifting higher than his face. Up, up, up...

Then  _down_ , in a blur and a slash, and her claws pierced metal and wires and circuits and -  _there was energon welling up around her digits._

She felt something flicker and die against the tips of her talons; as Cliffjumper's spark gave a last, defiant pulse before guttering out. Cliff's mouth gaped open, his optics dimmed, and she wrenched her servo free with a smirk.  _Triumph_  burst in her processor, and she wanted to purge.

The mech before her toppled forwards, lifeless. A dark, victorious laugh bubbled up and escaped her, barely audible over the  _crash_  of Cliff hitting the floor.

_She smiled._

She screamed.

And kept screaming, though she was back in a darkened berthroom and pushing herself away from the mech who was shouting - whether from the bond being severed or in a bid to calm her, she didn't know and couldn't care.

Arcee's spark  _burned_.

The laughter (her laughter - no, Starscream's laughter, though she remembered it rising like a poison from her mouth) rang in her audios, low and cold and cruel. Her digits still fizzed with the memory of Cliff's spark extinguishing around them. Somehow, at some point, she'd staggered to her pedes.

Glancing down at her servos, the femme searched for the energon that must surely cover them - but her claws had shrunk and no blue stained the grey.

There was a mech before her, but he was upright and wide-eyed and-

_I put him out of his misery._

_He begged me to!_

She hadn't believed it, not for a moment; yet Arcee still felt as though she'd been betrayed.

Starscream started forwards hesitantly.

"Arcee..."

" _Don't touch me!_ " she spat, backing away until her wings hit the wall.

Her spark was still exposed. Never moving her optics from Starscream's face, she activated the protocols to cover it.

"What did you see?" he asked softly.

Her stare turned incredulous. Then the fear in his optics registered.

"You know what I saw." Arcee began edging towards the nearby balcony door - if she could get outside, away from him... "You must have known this was going to happen, and you didn't do  _anything_ "-

"What could I have done? You agreed to this, and  _you_  knew what happened!"

" _Knowing_  is not the same as  _seeing myself stab him through the spark!_ " She was screaming again.

A sob slipped out and she finally lowered her optics - only to see Starscream half-raise a servo in warning.

"Arcee, don't do anything rash"-

But all she could focus on was those claws. The ones she'd worn to rip Cliff's spark out.

Before the mech could stop her, Arcee lunged for the door and fled onto the balcony. Hearing his approach behind her, she transformed and took off, soaring upwards towards the scattered stars.

She wanted to keep flying forever: maybe if she kept going long enough she'd run out of fuel and fall from the sky, and she could finally find Cliff and tell him she was  _so sorry_ -

No, that hadn't been her. She needed to remember. And, Arcee realised, she couldn't run away. If Nightracer disappeared it would jeapordise the Autobots.

Still, she couldn't go back. Not tonight, at the very least.

The dome that crowned the Winglord's tower had a small, flat spot right at its centre. She transformed again and plummeted, turning the stars to streams of light (and trying not to think about their similarity to the ones that'd ringed Starscream's spark). Landing heavily on the platform and bending one knee beneath her, Arcee glanced upwards, her exvents laboured.

A cloud was creeping its way over the stars.

Her consort was somewhere just below her (he was  _not_  her bondmate - apart from anything else, they hadn't seen it through). Would he still be out on the balcony, scanning the sky for her? Or had he retreated back to his quarters?

_It doesn't matter, either way._

Arcee knew what - who - she needed right now, and she wouldn't find them if she stayed here. With one last look up at the cloud-covered sky she rose to her pedes again and stepped off the platform, running down the dome until it steepened and pitched her towards the ground.

The femme dropped like a stone and the world seemed to slow around her, as the chill wind whistled past. There were no stars here - just blurred grey metal and glass. She activated her transformation protocols for the second time, hanging suspended for a moment before her engines kicked in.

It was probably her imagination, but in that second she thought she heard a faint cry of 'Nightracer!' from the top of the tower.

Arcee ignored it and headed for home.


	11. Chapter Ten: Home Again, Home Again

Starscream soon lost track of how long he'd been waiting on the balcony. In all honesty, he wasn't sure  _why_  he'd stayed out there - after Arcee had dived off the roof, he'd sent comm. after frantic comm. and received only silence in return. It was clear she wouldn't be back any time soon.

With a heavy sigh he walked back to the wall of the tower and slid down it, fanning his wings against the cool metal as he sat.

He certainly couldn't blame her. They'd been foolish to enter into this in the first place, given their history; but in all the panic of trying to thwart Megatron neither had given the actual act of bonding much thought.

Maybe he should have seen it coming.

Starscream had to marvel at this turn of events, though - out of his millennia of misdeeds, Arcee just  _had_  to centre on that one. Perhaps it had been inevitable. Did her connection with Cliffjumper draw her towards it? The mech grimaced, and tilted his helm upwards to glare at the sky.

That dratted Autobot's death had been a point of pride, once. Back when Megatron was losing himself to the blood of Unicron and Soundwave stood by and watched - but he, Starscream, had held the ship together even before that, hadn't he? And the culmination of that had been ridding himself of one of the thorns in his side that were Optimus Prime and his team. It  _had_  felt sweet at the time, watching the life ebb out of the mech and knowing he was finally getting somewhere with removing the Autobots on Earth.

 _Yet here I am seeking their aid - and that one fragging incident's scuppered my plans_ twice.

Grimly, he wondered if Cliffjumper was laughing at him in the Well. If only he'd kept his mouth shut in that canyon.

... Perhaps he shouldn't have gloated so much, either. Having seen Vos wasting away, Cliffjumper's death didn't seem so much of a triumph now. In some ways he missed his time on Earth, when things had been simpler in that regard and he hadn't had a city to care for.

 _But you asked for this, didn't you?_  he reminded himself.  _Would you rather Megatron had control of Vos, just so you could go on with all that uncomplicated, immoral bullscrap? Where you went from Air Commander to grounded and desperate in a matter of months?_

The answer to that was, of course, a resounding  _no_ ; and Starscream knew he had to unpick this mess sooner rather than later if he wanted things to stay the same.

He tried once more to comm. Arcee, was met with only static, and couldn't really be surprised.

 _This_  is  _entirely my doing, after all. And that's rather unfortunately undeniable._

As he pulled himself upright and headed for the door, a few first drops of rain  _plinked_  against his plating, from stormclouds that had crept, unnoticed, overhead. The acidity stung, and he fumbled the controls in a bid to get inside.

In the sky above the citadel, the stars had vanished.

 

* * *

 

Arcee landed a few blocks away from base and walked the last stretch. Nobody was around to see her with everyone seeking shelter from the encroaching, rain-swollen clouds; but even dazed and aching as she was some war-born sense of wariness prompted her to take precautions.

The promised downpour arrived just as she rounded the corner into the alley. A flash of lightning and a distant rumble chased it, and the femme dropped heavily through the trapdoor.

Running footsteps soon echoed up the passage - Arcee listened whilst slumped against the wall.

"Who's there?" a voice called, before someone switched on the lights. Further down the corridor, the femme dimly registered a silver-blue figure aiming its gun at her.

Chromia sucked in a gasp.

" _Cee?!_  Oh Primus - what happened?"

Arcee tried to explain, but found her vocaliser unwilling to emit anything but static. Chromia turned to talk into her comm. channel.

"Moonie? Get up here.  _Now_. Cee's back."

Summons issued, the older femme moved towards Arcee, extending a servo in an offer of comfort. The seeker flinched away, pressing herself back into the wall with widened optics.

" _Don't_ "-

She felt unclean, after what she'd done. Witnessed. It was all still jumbled in her processor: the fading blue eyes, the fizz of a dying spark and the fuel on her fingers, the vacant stare Cliff had worn as his life leaked away. Arcee was scared she'd lose control and lash out like before if Chromia got too close. She was dangerous, dirty; no matter how many times she told herself it was Starscream, and not her, who was these things, the warm wetness of Cliffjumper's energon still burned on her digits.

"Cee..." Chromia's voice was lower now. "Cee, what did he do?"

Moonracer clattered into view, and Arcee squeezed her optics shut.

"Cliff..." she finally managed. "I killed... I  _saw_  Cliffjumper. Right before he"-

Chromia cried out in horror, and when the seeker looked back at her friends Moonracer had her servos over her mouth.

"He told me it was a mercy killing," Arcee whispered. "Years ago. He said he put Cliff  _out of his misery_ , and I guess I wanted to believe him when all this took off. But he stabbed him - right through the spark in cold energon, and Cliff was fine, he was a prisoner..." A tiny, hysterical laugh rose up from nowhere. "I should know. I was  _there_."

This time when Chromia moved forwards, the grey femme met her halfway. She was lifted into a cradling hold by powerful arms and the bulky femme turned back down the corridor. Arcee slid her arms over Chromia's shoulders and buried her face against her neck.

"You can cry if you want, Cee," Moonracer murmured, falling into step alongside them. "Primus knows you deserve to."

But any anguish she felt over Cliffjumper's death had been expended the first time round. Now, she was numb. Numb, yet unsurprised and shocked and repulsed all at the same time. The contradicting flurry of emotions reminded her of the spiralling chaos she'd glimpsed in Starscream's spark, and she suddenly wanted to rip all those feelings out through her chest.

Even as she shuddered at the memory, a chill realisation settled over her.

_I have to go back, if I don't want to expose everyone. And I have to give my spark to him again._

_The bond wasn't complete._

 

* * *

 

He lay awake on his back in the berth for what felt like hours, with his wings splayed beneath him at odd angles. Unmoving since he collapsed in this sprawl, save to fold his servos over his chest with his digits interlocked.

Scarlet optics stared blankly at the canopy that arched above him (needless decoration, but he'd developed a taste for that after centuries living at the most basically functioning level of comfort). Soon after the sun crested the horizon, he knew, he'd have to journey to the council tower and try to weave a story over this debacle. For the first few megacycles he could perhaps excuse Nightracer wanting to rest - but if they summoned her he wouldn't be able to do anything save try to override it. And that would doubtless look suspicious.

All he had left to him now was lying in this sleepless swirl of thought.

... Which was interspersed, now and then, with twinges of distorted, alien emotion. He had closed his end of the bond as best he could, almost immediately after Arcee fled - but she'd apparently yet to get around to doing the same, and he was feeling the effects.

Her spark had quite honestly startled him when they bonded. He'd been expecting something cold, and certainly she had tried to withdraw from him at first. Fury would have been another guess, had anyone asked him beforehand; probably tempered by the fragile balm of Autobot morality, but still burning strong.

What he had received instead was... protectiveness.  _Fierce_  protectiveness, and caring, both as bright and brilliant as her physical spark.

But he'd only found that after delving through through layers of pained memories and carefully-constructed emotional walls. The message had been clear: this was Arcee at her most vulnerable, and he would have to fight to see it.

Starscream had, of course, taken that as a challenge.

Strangely though, he found himself regretting it afterwards. When he'd reached her very core and felt its pull - drawing him inwards, on and on, to somewhere that he'd feel  _safe_  - he'd also been overwhelmed with the sense that he didn't belong there. An anomaly, so to speak; a black spot on the light of her spark. Even so, he'd discovered he wanted to stay there for some reason. That someone could come through a war and still retain such a nature, damaged and unstable though it was...

In all honesty, it fascinated him.

Except that the price of seeing it was these flashes of Arcee's consciousness, each one flitting across his processor like an agitated nitromoth. And every thought pained him more than the last.

Arcee  _ached_. Not physically - he had confirmation through that, at least, that she hadn't been attacked again - but seeing what she had during the bonding had left a deep and immediate scar. There wasn't grief in any great measure. By all appearances, she was past that. It was the confusion that hurt her: the tangle of recollections, that were both hers  _and_  his, had her half-convinced she was the monster who'd stood over her partner and felt such triumph at his death.

Experiencing his own memories and thoughts from another's point of view was rather unsettling, if unpleasantly eye-opening. The sense of loss and outrage Arcee now carried with her reminded him of when his trine had disappeared - he was struck, suddenly, by the thought of their death being at his hands.

Starscream, against all odds, felt a twinge of remorse.

 

* * *

 

The femmes met only Ratchet on their way to Arcee's room - Chromia had sent a 'false alarm' message round, but one look at his expression showed that he'd known exactly who had shown up.

" _What did he do?_ " the medic demanded, optics stormy. "I knew this was a bad idea from the first, but"-

"According to Cee, he didn't  _do_  anything," Chromia cut in. "Besides murder Cliff, at least - and then leave the memory out for her to experience."

Ratchet sucked in a sharp intake.

"I want her in the medbay for the night."

"No offence, Ratch', but that's not what she needs right now. Moonie and I are taking her back to her room."

"Are you claiming to know more about mental care than me, Chromia? I may not be a specialist, but if you can comprehend for a moment the psychological damage she'll have just suffered"-

"Can't she make her own decision?" Moonracer piped up. "I mean, she could always stay with us for the night then come here in the morning. I wouldn't want someone poking around in my CPU after what she's been through."

"I can't come back here in the morning, Moonie," Arcee said softly. All three Autobots turned to look at her. She sort of wished Chromia would put her down, but doubted her request would be fulfilled if she asked. Especially since equally, she wasn't certain her legs would work properly if it was.

"I've got to go back to the citadel."

"If you think I'm gonna up and deliver you back into that slagger' slimy clutches"- Chromia started.

"Chromia, you  _have_  to. How's he going to explain it if Nightracer disappears? If I don't go back, we lose Vos' help. And Primus knows what'll happen to this place, once Megatron figures out what Starscream's been doing."

"And we're supposed to just forget what he's done to  _you_?" Ratchet demanded.

"He didn't do anything. I... he..."

_He killed Cliff._

_I stabbed him._  I  _did it. I was there._

She remembered being just as angry as Ratchet at one point, but now-

_It wasn't me. It wasn't... it was..._

_It_  was  _me._

_I didn't stab him. I-_

_I broke the bond._

She cried out suddenly, tightening her grip around Chromia's shoulders. A chorus of concerned noises greeted this, but she barely heard them.

_I broke the bond. Have to go back._

_Can't look back. Can't tell Jack. Fowler, Sierra-_

She was drowning in guilt and grief - a brief flash of astonishment appeared from nowhere, disjointed and somehow not hers, but it was gone almost before she registered it. Instead, she noted sudden movement as Chromia turned towards the medbay.

Have to go back.

"No," she insisted, barely above a whisper. "No.  _Ratchet!_ "

The medic met her optics, his own gaze wary.

"I need rest," she declared stupidly. "I... I need rest... in my room... and in the morning I need to go back to the citadel."

"Arcee, you're under no obligation to do that. Starscream can surely invent some excuse"-

"Ratchet, I broke the bond. I cut it off before it could finish and... and I keep thinking I murdered Cliff! I'm getting myself mixed up with Starscream, I have to fix this and show the councillors I'm still around, I need to  _recharge_. And Moonie's right - I don't want you poking at my CPU. It's been invaded enough for one day already."

"Wh- if the bond severed before it was complete, that's even more reason for me to take a look at you!"

"But there's no  _time_. Please, Ratchet. I need sleep more than I need this."

The medic deliberated for a moment before giving a defeated sigh and nodding, waving the femmes away. Though when Arcee glanced back over Chromia's shoulder, she saw him watching after them with worry creasing his faceplates.

Soon they reached the door to Arcee's room, and despite everything, once Chromia crossed the threshold the seeker felt a wave of comfort wash over her. Gone were the draughty rooms and too-big berths of the citadel: her optics travelled over familiar scuff marks on the walls, from where she'd practised moves with her arm blades, and a faint smile threatened to pull the corner of her mouth upwards.

"Guess it's lucky for you we didn't get round to clearing this place out, yet."

Chromia clambered onto the berth with Arcee still in her arms and lay down on her back. With some shifting of the femme's burden and a sideways shuffle to let Moonracer squeeze in too, Arcee soon found herself sprawled facedown on Chromia's chassis; Moonie's digits laced through those of her own right servo.

A bulky arm draped over her back, mindful of her wings, and Chromia's other hand reached up to brush its knuckles gently along the side of Arcee's face.

"You just recharge now, okay, sweetspark? You're probably in for a rough night, but try to forget about that little cogsucker over in the citadel if you can - can't do much about the bond thing, so don't you worry about anything else except that."

"Don't even worry about that," Moonracer added, giving Arcee's servo a squeeze. The grey femme was reminded, suddenly, of her wish to return to her berth and see Moonie again. It was hard to believe that'd only been this morning. "We're both here for you, we'll help you if you can't deal with it."

Arcee finally let herself smile, but she couldn't muster more of a reply than a contented hum before her optics drifted shut.

"And if you want," Chromia rumbled, her words reverberating through her chest where Arcee lay, "in the morning I can head up to the citadel and bash your slag-swilling consort's helm in."

The offer, though oddly comforting, didn't stop the nightmares when they came.

 

* * *

 

Sleep did eventually claim Starscream, but it was fitful and restless; interrupted by flashes of thought from Arcee's side of the bond. The weather didn't help matters. Tonight's storm was firmly established in the skies over Vos and didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon, if the cacophony of thunder and hammering raindrops was any indication.

A brilliant bolt of lightning slashed past the window and the Winglord groaned, bringing a servo up to shield his optics from the glare. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, plunging the berthroom into darkness once again.

Starscream screwed his eyes shut and grimaced at a sudden influx of panic from Arcee. She was suffering from nightmares, as far as he could tell - every so often, the transmissions from her side included fragmented images or sounds that she couldn't possibly be experiencing awake. More than once, they had loosened his tenuous grip on recharge. The mech wished he could find some way to block her out; he'd need his wits about him come the morning if he wanted to explain Nightracer's absence.

Thunder rolled overhead in a rumbling wave, accompanied by another stab of fear.

He whimpered and clenched one servo into a fist. A small, rather nasty voice at the back of his CPU was whispering that he deserved this for what he'd done, and that he ought to think of his bondmate - these were surely only echoes of what Arcee was going through.

Starscream told said voice in no uncertain terms to shut it, and rolled onto his other side, dragging the thermal sheeting up to cover his helm.

This whole situation was almost laughable, truth be told. Sharing experiences and emotions through a sparkbond had long been held as something to be celebrated, almost sacred in the way it was spoken of. Yet the moment he and Arcee had touched upon it the whole thing had become twisted, and torturous in its impact.

Though he could concede it was largely his influence that'd set the stage.

 _You could at least try and get through to her,_  that voice chided, undeterred.

But she wasn't going to answer her commlink now that she was asleep...

He  _had_  gotten through to her, though - not too long ago, there'd been the vestiges of something akin to a panic attack. That'd been strong enough to pull him in, almost breaking the block he'd placed on his end, and he wouldn't be surprised if Arcee had registered something of his reaction.

Perhaps that was the way to reach her. Even if he was the last mech she'd want in her CPU, it was worth a shot.

Starscream inhaled deeply and deactivated the block.

_Arcee?_

_Arcee, can you hear me?_

 

* * *

 

She wasn't sure if they counted as  _nightmares_ , in all technicality: there was no actual scenario, no object for her to direct her terror at. Instead, all she got when she drifted into recharge was a clamour of memory fragments. Claws slicing through the air and biting into metal; chains digging into her wrists as she watched Tailgate go limp; Sierra lying lifeless on the steps of the school... Even Cliff, reanimated and snarling, his jaw hanging loose and his mouth a gaping purple maw.

There were more memories that weren't hers, too - mostly involving Starscream's trine. Sometimes everything merged, and she was stabbing Skywarp or watching Thundercracker die at Airachnid's hand.

She wanted it to  _stop_.

Arcee had lost count of how many times she'd awoken with a yell or a whimper, to have Chromia's arms tighten around her and her servo squeezed reassuringly by Moonracer. Words of comfort were whispered to lull her back into recharge, but they couldn't keep the flashbacks at bay.

And now she was drowning in her memory of that fateful evening, twenty years ago. The sun was red and low behind Jasper, staining everything not in shadow a dusky orange.

Arcee was running towards a spindly silhouette, splashed against the golden sky like an ink stain. It'd left a trail of panic in its wake: overturned cars and screaming humans and buildings collapsed where they'd been carelessly slammed into.

It was making for the high school...

_"Airachnid!"_

**... Can you hear me?**

Primus above, this was all her fault. Who knew how many humans were dead? How many had yet to lose their lives, now that the Decepticon was loose?

**Arcee?!**

Someone was calling her name. Wildly, she spun round, her back strangely light without her wings - but all she saw was Bee, roaring up behind her in alt mode.

**Arcee, are you listening?**

And that wasn't Bee's voice.

_Starscream?_

**Yes. Thank Primus, I've finally reached-**

_Get out of my head!_

The memory faded around her, and she was left drifting in a strange, suspended state. Every fibre of her ached to fall int unconsciousness, but Starscream's presence wouldn't allow it. A sound floated towards her - the shriek of claws against metal - and she cried out, trying to pull away from where she felt the mech in her mind. Nothing happened. It was as though he was an anchor, keeping her from casting adrift and escaping.

_Just let me sleep._

**You are sleeping though, surely? You didn't wake up after that nightmare.**

_Flashback,_  Arcee corrected.  _And what happened there was my reason for agreeing to this whole thing._

**When Airachnid got loose and attacked Jasper. All because you tried to kill her in her stasis pod.**

The femme felt a chill settle over her.

_How did you-?_

**We're bonded. You think I wouldn't have found out? Besides, you already admitted to it - why are you concerned if I know the details?**

_Because I never gave them to you!_  the femme burst out.  _And I never asked you to be here._  Leave.  _Before I make you._

**At least tell me that you're safe.**

_I'm at the base,_  she admitted grudgingly.  _I've got Chromia and Moonracer with me and I'm trying to_  sleep.

**So am I, but interference on your part's made that difficult.**

_You think_ you've  _got it bad?!_  Arcee was quite frankly amazed at his insensitivity, if not surprised. Then she remembered one of her previous visions.  _I could give you an actual reason to complain, if you want._

She made to disconnect herself from Starscream's consciousness again - something still held her back, but she could see bits of the visions that had plagued her flickering here and there in her CPU. The femme caught a glimpse of blue and veered towards it. Her connection to Starscream stretched out into a tenuous thread, and somewhere in her mind he gave an exclamation of discomfort.

That cut off abruptly as Arcee submerged herself in the false memory: herself, as Starscream, standing over her victim again, about to deliver the killing blow. Yet in Cliffjumper's place knelt a blue-and-silver mech; built not unlike Arcee's partner but for the wings on his back.

In the corner of her mind, Starscream performed the incorporeal equivalent of sucking in a gasp.

**Thundercracker?!**

_The very same. And you know what's about to happen, don't you?_

**... Please. Pull back. Don't make me watch - don't make me _do_  this!**

Arcee couldn't deny relishing the power she suddenly held over him, after a month with her life under his thumb and the events of that evening. But she remembered all-too-clearly how she'd been screaming when she left the bond. She gave in to the pull of Starscream's presence, snapping back from the vision and into the strange limbo that their connection had formed.

_Is that enough to make you leave?_

Even before he gave his response, she knew what it would be. How a formless presence could radiate so much stubbornness baffled her.

**I don't think so. In fact, it's just solidified my reason for staying.**

_And what reason would that be?_  the femme demanded.

**It took great effort for you to slip back into those night terrors of yours, with me here. I think that if I stay, we might actually get a decent rest for the remainder of the night.**

As furious as she was, Arcee couldn't deny that he had a point. And she did badly want a proper recharge.

_... Fine. But you'd better shut up. I don't want to think about you being in my mind any more than I have to._

**Technically, I'm in your spark.**

_That's even worse. And_  what  _did I just say?_

**... Shutting up.**

 

* * *

 

Starscream wasn't sure how, but they managed to achieve some sort of second unconsciousness  _within_  their respective recharge cycles. It worked though, and the strange, neutral ground that they'd formed afforded them both a better rest from then on.

The scientific part of his CPU wondered if such a phenomenon had ever been recorded before - surely theirs couldn't be the first bond to break prematurely?

The rest of him just wanted to sleep.

And sleep he did, well through sunrise and into the morning. So great was his exhaustion that he missed three separate pings from Polaris, demanding to know where he was. More specifically, why he was not currently present in the council tower. (The last one, he would discover, clearly had its own ideas about why he and 'Nightracer' had yet to reappear; which were almost laughably far from the truth).

Upon waking, however, his initial panic over said messages soon dissipated in favour of other matters. His suite didn't just consist of berthroom and washracks (and living space on the level below). There was also a small sitting room attached at the back - and its door was no longer fully closed, as it had been last night.

Cautiously, Starscream climbed out of his berth and approached this anomaly with quiet footsteps.

After a rather apprehensive knock yielded no answer, he entered.

Arcee's wings were sticking up above the back of a couch; she was apparently lying on her stomach, flicking through channels on the viewscreen before her. The sound was muted.

It didn't seem like she'd noticed him. Deciding to keep it that way, Starscream turned back for the berthroom.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks just before he closed the door.

"You snore really badly, you know. I could hear it even with that door shut."

"I suppose you'll just have to get used to it, then."

"Maybe. Or you could do something about it. Food for thought, there."


	12. Chapter Eleven: After The Night

Arcee did, in the end, spend the day in Starscream's quarters. A ping arrived from Polaris at one point - but she assumed that the Winglord had discouraged his deputy from prying further, as no others followed it. She was, however, curious as to what excuse hed formulated for her absence.

A niggling thought at the back of her processor insisted that she could've stayed at the base longer, given how things had played out - backed up by another which whispered that perhaps she  _should_  have let Ratchet look at her - but she squashed these with equal fervour. What would've happened if Polaris hadn't listened, and had come marching up the back tower to find an empty suite wher Nightracer should be?

She found herself returning to that thought several times: this  _had_  been the right call, even if it meant that every passing megacycle took her closer to an inevitable confrontation with Starscream.

_You already ran away from your problems once. And that's what landed you here._

So Arcee passed the time doing nothing much, confining herself to the Winglord's chambers. She ventured down to the living area once or twice: the first time, not long after she awoke, she dug up some reading material along with her morning fuel, before deciding to indulge in both whilst also making use of the oil bath. After all, it was there, it was empty - and it was distinctly unfair that Starscream had had it to himself for so long. She saw to the preparation herself, though. The idea of summoning a drone for something like this just seemed odd to her.

When Starscream eventually returned, she'd retreated back to the sitting room, and was in the middle of a datapad on Vosnian mythology. She heard the main door open and huddled lower in her seat to listen, as he clattered about the berthroom; his footsteps approaching her location in a roundabout way.

The Winglord entered the sitting room and rebooted his vocaliser. Arcee ignored him.

"I notice you closed the bond."

Still no response.

"And... I suppose you were planning to recharge in here tonight?"

"Do you  _want_  me back in your berth, 'Scream?"

"Not particularly. But"-

"Then why are you asking?" She finally turned to face him.

"Because this needs  _some_  form of resolution!" the mech snapped, his wings twitching irritably. "You can't live out the rest of your days in this room!"

At that Arcee threw the datapad aside, rising to her pedes.

"What, you think I should get over it after one night? I should just forgive you and move on, is that it, so we can keep playing Happy Families in front of the council? You've got me up here out of the way like you wanted, because I  _can't face_  Polaris and the others after what's just happened. And now I've closed the bond your recharge cycle won't be interrupted anymore. What more could you want?"

Starscream's scowl in response to her tirade was expected. What he said following it certainly wasn't.

"This may surprise you, but perhaps what I  _want_  is my bondmate in a stable condition. Unfortunately, as things stand I'll only get that if we merge again."

"You think I hadn't figured that out already?" Arcee retorted. "I mean - well, not the first part. Why the slag do you care what condition I'm in?"

"Because it won't exactly look good for either of us, if the Vosnian Consort succumbs to trauma immediately after her bonding ceremony."

"And you think you can just talk to me and snap your digits and I'll be good to go and be Nightracer again."

"I don't think that at all. I think I can persuade you to do what any self-respecting Decepticon would, and forge on even in spite of the pain."

The femme gave a short, humourless bark of laughter.

"There's the answer I've wanted all these years. Why are the 'Cons so messed up? Cause you'll get stabbed in the back if you show even the smallest bit of weakness. It's got nothing to do with  _forging on_ , has it? You'd know - every time Megatron stopped  _forging_  you were there with a knife!" She took a step towards Starscream, who visibly quailed in the face of her glare. "And I don't know if you've registered this, 'Scream, but if you want to keep Vos going then you're not in with the 'Cons anymore. Autobots actually recognise how fragged-up scrap like this can leave you, even if they can't always do anything about it."

"All very admirable, I'm sure. But you forget that you're hardly the first soldier to meet with suffering in her duty. And it can't have escaped your notice last night that I've lost people, too!"

"It's not the  _loss_ , Starscream. I already went through that when you killed him. It was your memory, and the nightmares, and you  _know_  that. So if you're gonna be dense on purpose, frag off and leave me alone."

She dropped heavily back into her seat and picked up the 'pad again. Starscream made no move to leave. She tried to forget he was standing there, but the restless tap of his claws made that impossible.

"Oh, and the other thing - your trine aren't confirmed dead, are they? What I got from you is they just disappeared. They could still be alive somewhere."  _You still have_ hope. "So come back when you actually know what it's like for someone that close to you to die, let alone when you see yourself kill them."

 _Come back when you know what false hope is. When you know they're dead but you still see their signals spark up again. Come back when you know for sure that Skywarp and Thundercracker are never coming back to_ you.

"Maybe I'll listen to you then."

When that didn't shift him, she tried one last tactic.

"Or is it worse, knowing there's a chance they're still online? They've not come looking for you if they are, so I guess that makes your trine kind of a trainwreck. What sort of leader are you, if the others don't care what's happened to you?"

The Winglord's optics widened at that, his mouth working furiously to come up with a retort. Apparently none presented itself - he stormed out with a noise of disgust.

Arcee almost felt guilty watching him go. She'd been very...  _Starscream-ish_  herself, making such a comment.

Especially since it was all backed up by the same fears she'd glimpsed inside his spark.

 

* * *

 

"Well,  _something's_  clearly bothering you."

Polaris' optics darkened as she hurried to keep up with the Winglord - who, in turn, was doing his level best to lose her on the way to his office.

"Is it about the bond? I hope you've not done anything to scare her off."

"Even if that was the case, I hardly see why it's your concern," Starscream said. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He opened the door to his office and headed for his desk, only to find that Polaris had slipped through after him. The mech suppressed an exasperated groan. Since his confrontation with Arcee yesterday he'd been left somewhat irritable, and his deputy had immediately picked up on that. He'd been trying to shake her ever since encountering her in the right-hand side tower.

Polaris, true to form, was having none of it.

"It clearly is the case," she said now. "You're far too defensive for it not to be. So how did you end up fighting with her?"

"Might I remind you that it's your job to see  _Vos_  runs smoothly, and not my private life? You could have done with being told that yesterday, too."

"Oh, you got my messages?" the femme asked.

"Yes, unfortunately. I particularly resented the implication that I was -how did you put it? -  _making up for so much time lost in the war_."

"I do try."

Starscream seated himself behind the desk, and gave her a withering look. She countered with one of her own and he thought better of it.

"Anyway, I'd remind you," Polaris continued, smiling slightly, "that in this case Vos and your private life are intertwined." She dropped gracefully into the chair before the Winglord's desk and clasped her servos on the tabletop. Her wings twitched once or twice. "If this doesn't work out you'll end up bonded to that  _Slipstream_ "- the fact that she'd never met Slipstream apparently mattered little to Polaris in expressing her disgust -"and we'll lose Vos to Megatron entirely."

"I'm aware."

"Then do something about it."

"And what, precisely, do you propose I do?" Starscream hissed. "I've tried talking to her, but she refuses to listen."

"I'd be better able to help you if you told me what's wrong. Although I can give you one idea already - perhaps try listening to  _her_."

Starscream scowled, using his irritation as a cover for a spot of internal deliberation. After all, he needed to tell Polaris  _something_. The problem was that she was sure to see through any lie he might spin - one of the disadvantages of working with one's former mentor.

He deemed it best to stick to the truth, albeit with sizeable chunks omitted.

"She saw... memories, of what I'd done throughout the war. When we sparkmerged. I suppose I don't blame her for her reaction; but she was aware of what happened, more or less."

"I'm sure hearing about it and seeing it are vastly different things, Starscream. Although"- the councillor frowned a little -"didn't Nightracer say she had to do her fair share of fighting during the war?"

"Yes, to protect herself." Starscream marvelled at the fact that he was defending Arcee, when she was the reason Polaris was even sniffing about in the first place. "I can assure you, it's a world away from the sort of things the Decepticons got up to. I should know. I've seen both of those sides, now."

"Well, I can sympathise on that front, I suppose. When I heard some of the things you'd been responsible for..."

"You were disappointed?" Starscream asked scathingly. "Because"-

"No. I can admit it's not my place to judge what you did, given that I was tucked away in a colony. I would  _question_  some of your decisions, but I can't say I was even surprised. I was... saddened for a moment, though. About one thing.

"You were set to be one of the youngest ever Vosnian councillors before the war broke out, and I don't doubt you would've made Crown Prince one day. I thought perhaps you'd remember your city once you signed up. But they destroyed Vos, and you stayed. I suppose I was sad that you let your ambition run unchecked. In the end, it's made you forget so much of what shaped you."

"So in other words, you  _were_  disappointed." The Winglord arched an optic ridge. "And I have to say - of all the atrocities I committed, you pick the one in which I had no part? I was in Tarn! I wasn't even aware of what had happened until it was too late!"

"Disappointment would imply that I had a right to expect something of you," Polaris replied. "And I was stripped of that right when you decided to sever ties with me. But I couldn't help regretting."

"Regretting what, precisely?"

Despite her protestations, the look Polaris fixed him with did have something accusatory about it.

"Joining Megatron distanced you from what I've tried to teach you - I'll admit you used your training well enough, but not in a way I would've liked to see. I always hoped you were more perceptive than that, that you'd look at what things meant long-term instead of what glory they could grab you in the present. Even that  _atrocity_  didn't drive you away. You pressed on and performed ones of your own."

"What did you want me to do? Join you in some backwater colony, in mourning for a decadent city while the rest of Cybertron fell? Because it  _would_  have fallen, whether I backed Megatron or not. I was merely trying to pick the winning side."

"I wanted you to see it as a warning!" the femme said, rising to her pedes. She slammed her servos on the desk - Starscream was suddenly reminded of another confrontation a month ago, in this same room. He suspected he'd end up conceding the current argument just as he had before.

His chief councillor was glaring at him now.

"Even back then, you had enough power to influence things. I was hoping you'd act in time to stop the planet being destroyed, at least; having seen what happened to Vos! And don't you dare tell me you didn't care for this city. I don't appreciate people lying to my face. It's insulting - I thought I taught you better than that, if you want to make a point."

Starscream chose to ignore that last, though he knew his silence would just be an admission of guilt in itself.

"I didn't have sole command of the Decepticon army, you know."

"No, but you could've made a difference. I always knew you had a vicious streak, Starscream. I was just hoping you'd put it aside if your home was in danger."

"Well I am  _trying_  to atone for that now, if you hadn't noticed," Starscream said hotly. "I've managed to keep Vos relatively free from Megatron's clutches thus far, and I'm the reason the planet was restored in the first place!"

"And how many Vosnians died the first time round? How many Cybertronians? You can't restore  _them_."

The femme slumped back into her seat suddenly, rubbing a servo across her optics.

"Sorry. I know I sound like a stereotypical nitpicking Neutral"-

"You certainly do. You've got 'blame the war on the first soldier you encounter' down perfectly."  _And I've guilt enough about Vos as it is, thank you very much._

He was treated to another deadpan stare for that. Though he supposed it had been deserved; he was hardly a mere footsoldier, after all.

"But you must see how it felt when I heard. I was trying to help you achieve greatness - and you certainly did in a way, and notoriety. I just didn't... picture it quite the way it happened."

"I thought you noticed my  _vicious streak_ ," Starscream said. "And I'm sorry I don't meet your ideal for the perfect Winglord, but I'm afraid I'm what you've got - squandered talent and all. I  _am_  trying to make a decent job of it."

"Well if that's true, then your next attempt at a decent job will be being there for Nightracer. I'm sure you'd like her to soldier on, but it's clear she's badly shaken if she's yet to reappear."

"I did"-

"She's not a Decepticon, Starscream. You can't talk to her and walk away knowing she's been threatened into carrying on."

"I know that!" the Winglord interjected, his optics narrowing. "But when I tried to discuss it with her, she shut me down."

"Don't just have it out with her, you idiot!" the femme said. Starscream rankled at that, his mouth tightening to a thin line. "Address how she's feeling, offer support, then let  _her_  talk about it first. Even if the support aspect might be difficult, knowing your temperament. Good Primus, it's not exactly complicated! I thought scientists were supposed to be intelligent." She frowned. "Have you even apologised yet?"

Though Starscream had to admit she'd got a point, the slights she made still stung upon impact. Instead of retorting with something equally biting, however, he elected to remain silent.

Besides, getting dragged into trading insults wouldn't help either of them in the long run - he needed time to think. Polaris' advice might be sound for approaching any other femme about this, but he doubted it'd work on Arcee; if anything, she'd get suspicious and push him even further away.

"I thought you had a meeting with Switchblade this morning, in any case."

Polaris smirked and pushed her chair back, standing. "And  _I_  think that's a blatant ploy to get me out of your office."

She went along with it nevertheless and turned to leave; probably sensing that she'd long overstayed her welcome. However, a sudden thought occurred to Starscream and he called out to halt her.

"Polaris - I think you should know that you were right. She does have a fire in her spark."

 

* * *

 

Somewhere, deep in her processor, she knew she was dreaming. Part of her was still connected to the grey-and-purple frame lying unconscious in the sitting room, and said part of her desperately wanted to return to reality.

But that wasn't likely to happen any time soon. Instead of the Winglord's apartments in the citadel, her surroundings now resembled the city outside - to an extent. Overhead, the sky was a murky grey, and the Vos in her mind looked even more run-down and dilapidated than the real thing. The street she found herself in was narrow and winding, enclosed by tall, blackened buildings that lined the road like sentries: they marched into the distance, but their regimented lines were distorted by caved in roofs and ragged holes around missing upper floors. The more Arcee watched, the more of them, she noticed, were cold and empty. It soon became apparent that the whole street was abandoned.

Once she'd made that conclusion, she registered the debris and rubble littering the way. Why was she dreaming of a bombed-out Vos?

Far in the distance, a scrabbling sound echoed over the hollow rooftops. The femme whirled to face the direction it'd come from - and in doing so took in the skyline behind her. A whisper of recollection informed her that this wasn't the city she'd first taken it for.

_Not Vos. Kaon. During the war, before we set up there and the 'Cons flattened it._

Cybertron's southernmost city sported very few standing buildings nowadays - the Autobots had been driven underground. Arcee had seen it in this half-dead state once before, however.

_So this is Kaon, huh? Love what you've done with the place. The ruins are especially... picturesque._

The scrabbling noise sounded again. She could've sworn it was closer this time.

Suddenly alert, Arcee's helm snapped to the front and she pressed up against a nearby wall, staggering slightly when her leg slipped on a length of broken pipe. She sent a command for her arm blasters to activate.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, the femme repeated the command. Her efforts were again fruitless, and with a quiet curse she lifted her arm to check for damage.

The problem presented itself immediately - she cried out and recoiled, stumbling until her knees met the floor with a sharp  _crack_. Her exvents quickened, as she stared at her servo with painfully bright, dilated optics.

Theoretically, it was her servo. It connected at her wrist and she could move each digit without difficulty. But her digits, last she checked, had not been claws.

Nor had they been stained blue with dried energon.

At that moment she heard the scrabbling once more. It was even louder now, and underscored by a low, laboured rasping; getting nearer every second.

A sudden  _clunk_  reverberated across the street from the building opposite. She yelped, cradling the clawed servo close to her body -

Something shrieked and burst through the charred wall before her.

With a scream Arcee scrambled to her pedes and tore off up the street as the creature snapped at her ankles, gaining on her every klik. She threw herself sideways as an alley presented itself, frantically praying her pursuer would be too big to fit. It certainly seemed confused by this new development. Behind her, she heard the thing screech to a halt.

More of the low rasping echoed down to Arcee from the mouth of the passage - cut off abruptly, as the monster let out a piercing, unearthly wail that tapered to a growl.

As the call died out, the femme saw she'd reached a dead end. She tried to transform to no avail; when she glanced over her shoulder she discovered that her wings were gone. The creature had her trapped.

And she needed to stop thinking of it as a monster. After all, when it first attacked she'd caught enough of a glimpse to know what it was.

 _Who_  it was.

He'd found his way into the passage now, shambling around the corner and staring at her blankly. One of his servos dragged along the ground with a quiet rattling noise that was nearly eclipsed by his vents hissing - even though his mouth gaped wide, the rasp of that still persisted. Arcee could barely see the red he sported beneath thick layers of grime; and in any case a sickly purple light suffused everything around him, burning her optics and making it hard to discern anything but his face.

_Cliffjumper. Why did -_

_Why did I -_

_Why did he do this to you?_

She let a sob escape her, backing up further.

"Oh, Primus.  _Cliff..._ "

Cliffjumper screamed and threw himself into a charge.

Frantically, Arcee cast around for any way out, and her gaze alighted on on a window to her left. Cliff was nearly on top of her now, and that grotesque glowing maw looked big enough to swallow her whole.

With a yell, she dove through the opening.

There had been boards over the window but they shattered as she leapt, and the remnants clattered to the floor. She joined them a moment later, throwing out her servos to break her fall.

... And stood, looking around uncertainly. Against all logic, she wasn't inside a house - instead, she sat in the middle of another road. A highway this time, by the look of things: it was wide and largely free of debris, and the few buildings flanking it were set back from the edges. The sky was still dark.

In the absence of sunlight, Arcee noticed a thin orange glow far ahead of her on the road. Curiosity piqued, she pushed herself to her pedes.

A now-familiar shriek echoed down the road.

_How many times to I have to kill you, wretched Autobot?!_

The femme clapped her servos over her mouth, as though she'd said the words aloud. One of her claws collided hard with her faceplate, leaving a scratch.

She turned to see Cliffjumper thundering up the road towards her. He was too close to make running any use - and Arcee had had enough of running. She was sick of that memory festering in her processor, sick of it worming into her dreams and weighing on her spark.

Besides, whatever had happened to him after, Cliff had been hers. Starscream had taken him away once already. She wasn't going to let him poison her thoughts of the mech, too.

 _Cliffjumper was_ mine _, Starscream. You stole him from me. You don't get to make me lose myself as well._

She stood her ground, and stared down the monster that was her friend.

He slowed to a stop just before her, his torturously wide mouth no longer emitting its eerie wail. She took his silence for confusion.

"Cliffjumper..."

Arcee's voice was quiet too, and she kept her optics dimmed and soft.

"Cliff, do you remember me?" He growled, and she tried not to flinch. "Here, Cliff, look at me. We've been here before. Together."

She lifted a servo towards him - and, too late, remembered the wickedly sharp digits. Cliffjumper's optics locked onto the claws and he recoiled. The heavy rasping returned as the mech's body tensed like a spring.

"Ah,  _scrap_. Cliff don't"-

Arcee had to turn and run at that moment - Cliffjumper snarled a warning, lurching forwards. The femme's pedes echoed up the highway, beating out a frantic rhythm, but the gap between her and the monster soon closed.

He was almost on her when he spotted what had caused the orange glow from earlier, skidding to a stop just in time.

They were at the edge of a smelting pit.

Arcee had barely taken in the seething molten metal below before something grabbed her from behind. She screamed for the second time that night, kicking and clawing at her assailant, prepared to drag Cliff over the edge with her if it meant he'd just  _let go_ -

" _Arcee!_  Arcee, I -  _ouch!_ "

As Starscream yelped it dawned on her that she was finally awake. She didn't cease struggling (deciding that she'd rather not have the mech's arms wrapped around her middle) - until her pede struck something with a loud  _clang_  and she glanced down. It was a guard rail.

A chill settled over her, as her gaze travelled beyond the barrier to plummet over the edge of the Winglord's balcony. The drop to the smelting pit in her dream seemed like a pothole in comparison. Thinking that made her panic, remembering Cliffjumper and her claws, and she lashed out again.

"Arcee,  _calm down!_ "

He didn't get far with his protests this time, either - her struggling made him lose his grip and she was pitched face-first towards the railing, colliding with it hard. She cried out, staring down through the dark at the far away ground and clinging tight to the balustrade.

Footsteps closed in behind her.

"At least come inside," the mech said softly. "It's starting to rain." Mercifully, he didn't make any move to direct her himself.

Arcee was shaking as she peeled herself away from the rail but she complied, noticing as she did so the sting of a first few acidic drops hitting her plating. As she stepped towards the door she wobbled, and Starscream grasped her upper arm.

"You were sleepwalking," he offered by way of explanation. "Only, you kicked one of the berth legs, and it's lucky you did or I might not have known you were there. You looked ready to throw yourself off the balcony, by the time I got outside."

Arcee didn't reply, shivering and wrapping her free arm across her front. She recalled her desperation to get away from Cliff; how she'd been prepared to jump into that pit to accomplish it. The Winglord was certainly correct in his observation.

Which meant that he'd just saved her life.

"What... what were you dreaming about?" the mech asked, closing the balcony door behind them.

"What do you think?"

She was too weary to put any venom into her voice and she turned from him without another word; gaze fixing on the door that concealed her current sleeping quarters. It was only when she started in that direction that she realised Starscream still hadn't released her arm.

"Starscream. Let  _go_."

"I'm not letting you recharge in there again," he said, refusing to heed her command. "You're incredibly lucky I awoke in time, and I hope you realise that."

"Well I'm not sharing a berth with you."

"You don't have a say in the matter, I'm afraid. I certainly won't have you sleepwalking off the balcony a second time."

With a snarl she wrenched her arm free and strode towards the sitting room. Starscream gave a frustrated exclamation and followed, this time lifting her bodily off the ground when he caught up.

" _Put me down_ , you slagger, or I swear-!"

"You'll do what?" the Winglord countered, the last word exiting on a grunt of pain as Arcee's pede connected with his shin. "Kill me in my sleep? That's what you'd like to do, I'm sure. But it won't exactly -  _oof!_ " - An elbow to the middle, that time - "benefit that  _family_  of yours if I'm assassinated, will it?"

They made it to the berth despite Arcee's determined struggling, and the femme found herself dumped unceremoniously on top of the covers.

"I'm trying to ensure your  _safety_ ," Starscream exclaimed, exasperated. "Why are you so insistent on this stubbornness?"

"Wanting a separate berth to the mech who murdered my partner isn't stubbornness."

"Yet that same mech is also your bondmate - by mutual agreement," he retorted. "And for better or worse - though mostly to keep Megatron off our backs, I suppose - I'd like to ensure that you're at least alive!"

Arcee stared at him for a moment, overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

"Well the nightmares aren't gonna stop until we sparkmerge. Maybe... maybe we should just do that now, and then I can go back in the other room."

"Is that what you want?"

"What I want is to never have agreed to this fragging fiasco in the first place."

"Then sparkmerging is a  _patently_  bad idea right now."

"When will it ever not be?" the femme sighed.

No answer was forthcoming. Arcee briefly debated making another bid for the sitting room - but quite honestly, she was too tired to even manage that. Grudgingly admitting defeat, she crawled to the top of the berth and slipped under the thermal sheet. She screwed her optics shut almost immediately, and listened as Starscream's footsteps made their way round to the side opposite hers. When she felt him pull back the covers, she rolled right over to the edge.

An awkward silence settled as the mech lay down beside her - and Arcee revised her previous opinion of the berth's size. She was immensely grateful, now, that it was wide enough for them to avoid touching altogether.

"Arcee?"

She'd prefer to avoid talking, too, but with a huff she replied.

"Slag off."

"Arcee, give me your servo."

"What in the Pit for?"

"Because I only knew what you were doing when you knocked into the berth," the Winglord said. "And if you insist on recharging all the way over there, you might as well be in the sitting room - at least if I can tell that you've moved in your sleep, I'll be prepared if it happens again."

Expelling another, exasperated sigh, the femme flung an arm back towards the centre of the berth. Moments later long, slender claws closed around it, and she tried to forget about the same ones she'd seen in her dream.

"Here's hoping you'll recharge better this time."

"Go the frag to sleep."


	13. Chapter Twelve: Lash Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finallyyyy got access to my Word files for these chapters again, so I'm trying to stick the missing bits from ffnet up here before I charge onwards to post completely new stuff.

Arcee was still asleep when he awoke this time, and she didn't look like she'd be easily roused. Nevertheless, Starscream slipped his servo out from under hers somewhat gingerly, trying not to jostle the berth too much as he slid to the edge.

He was slightly wary of her having a repeat of last night if he left the room. That wouldn't be the best way to start the day: coming back from the washracks to find that one's bondmate had thrown herself off a balcony. With a sigh he looked back at her, scanning her body language for signs of unrest. She had moved during the night; her helm now tilted to face the west window, through which early morning sunlight streamed. Her optic ridges were pinched into a slight frown, but her frame was relaxed and sprawled carelessly over her side of the berth - one arm was still bent up near her head where their servos had been joined during recharge.

A wing twitched and Starscream tensed, preparing to intervene if she started up with the sleepwalking again. However, with a quiet murmur Arcee stilled once more and the Winglord's shoulders slumped back down. It was curious, the fact that she seemed to have slept far more soundly the second half of the night.

The only explanation he could think of on the spot involved bonds and the proximity of sparks, and other things that he was sure Arcee would be just as reluctant to contemplate. And that theory served to reinforce his conviction that something had to be done about this. He couldn't exactly play spark support to the femme every moment of the day, even disregarding whether he'd actually want to.

Somehow, Starscream doubted whether Polaris' advice would be of much use in their case. He would have to find a different way around. The last thing Arcee wanted from him, it was clear, was emotional aid - and, much like the prospect of being joined at the hip to keep her stable, he himself wasn't especially inclined to partake either. Nothing he might say would be of help, he was sure, and he wasn't about to lie through his teeth.

... Not about this, at any rate.

_"I'm sorry you had to see that, but I'm afraid I'm not at all apologetic about what I did. My only regret is not keeping quieter about it."_

That was sure to go over well.

Heaving a sigh, Starscream transferred his gaze to the window. The clouds were paler today, turning the sun blindingly bright; and given his previous train of thought he found that the light's intensity turned his mind towards Arcee's spark. She had a defiant sort of brilliance to her core that was almost aggressive, though Starscream might've only gotten that vibe on account of being himself in particular. Inside and out during the sparkmerge, however, Arcee had demonstrated a great capacity for strength (which, he had come to realise, was the source of her unwavering stubbornness where their interactions were concerned. It appeared that even Autobots' less noble qualities were often annoyingly rooted in something more positive).

Since he wouldn't be of any use, he could only see that she had to hope that strength would be enough to get her through this. She'd certainly managed without him for everything else before.

_Including when you killed Cliffjumper._

That snide little voice from the other night was back with a vengeance.  _And how much of that strength was forcibly learned, after all her loss?_

Forcibly or no, however, helping herself was still Arcee's best option. Starscream got the feeling that  _he'd_  only help by offering himself up as a punching bag. During her waking hours the femme practically bristled with animosity towards him, and her preferred outlet, it was obvious, would be grevious bodily harm to the Winglord...

Starscream froze suddenly, rebooting his optics.

That really was a way to solve everything, wasn't it?

She didn't need to forgive him completely, but if she could feel even slightly avenged for what'd happened, maybe she'd be comfortable enough to sparkmerge again. And it wasn't as though they even lacked the facilities, thanks to Arcee.

With a last glance backwards to check on the sleeping femme Starscream stood and headed to the washracks, making a mental note to stop by the sparring ring later that day.

* * *

 

"So, do you remember the stance I taught you last time?"

Windblade nodded and demonstrated; though as Arcee moved in to adjust her posture slightly, concerned blue optics followed the grey femme.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, Nightracer? Everyone's been saying"-

"I bet  _everyone's_  been saying about fifty different things happened," Arcee interjected, scowling. "And none of them are true. I panicked when I saw some of his war memories, that's all. We're not on the best terms right now but we'll get over it."

_And that's maybe the biggest lie I've ever told._

She'd dropped her voice to tell Windblade the last part - several citadel workers were hanging around, spending their break messing about in the other ring. Arcee had already had her quota of curious stares from them, thank you very much.

"Yeah, but are you okay being out in public like this?" the bodyguard said. "I don't  _have_  to have the lessons; you don't have to teach me if you're uncomfortable..."

"Hey." Arcee smiled faintly and stretched to place a servo on the top of Windblade's helm, turning it gently so the other femme looked at her head-on. "I had to come back sometime, right? Couldn't stay in that tower forever."

The Neutral grinned.

"I guess you're right. Besides, who'd want only  _Starscream_  for company?"

That made Arcee laugh. It felt slightly alien to her.

"Nightracer! Could I speak to you for a moment?"

That wiped the smile off her face almost as quickly as it'd appeared. Nevertheless, Arcee fixed a pale imitation of it in place as she turned to the speaker.

"What did you want, Polaris?"

The councillor had walked to the edge of their sparring ring and was leaning on the bars, her arms folded in a neat drape across them. She gave Arcee a pointed look.

"What I want is something that I'd rather not discuss in public."

The Autobot didn't fail to notice a sudden stillness from the nearby citadel workers - but not a silence. They were all whispering among themselves.

"Can't it wait? I'm in the middle of something right now."

Beside her, Windblade gave a nervous hum and twitched her wings. Polaris' expression had developed a touch of frost - but Arcee wasn't just going to up and submit to her when she called.

_You wanted me hidden away in the back of the citadel, and that's what you got. But I bet your prize pupil's spun you our story - and you_ hate _seeing him in the wrong where I'm concerned._

Yes, the Autobot thought she could guess why Polaris wanted to speak so urgently. They needed to put out a different story, she'd say, that wouldn't cast Starscream in such an incriminating light; especially with the rumours flying around.

Arcee wasn't going to let her cover up for him, on top of everything else. She turned away.

Apparently, Polaris saw this as a challenge.

"Of course it can wait, Lady Nightracer. But I thought you should know - your sparkmate's on his way over, and he wants to talk to you too. Now seemed as good a time as any."

Her optics bore a very clear, succinct message:  _your choice_. Arcee cursed under her breath. A grilling by Starscream, or one by Polaris... there wasn't much in it, but she'd be scrapped if she let the Winglord make this in any way public. Which he'd want to, knowing his fondness for melodrama.

And here she'd thought the sparring ring would be a way to hide from them both.

"Yeah," she sighed, defeated. "I guess it is."

"Wonderful." Polaris beamed and stepped back from the ring, watching as Arcee apologised to Windblade and deactivated the hard-light barriers. The stares of the citadel workers were like pinpricks on the Autobot's plating, but she didn't bother meeting them; hopping down from the platform and starting over towards Polaris without a backwards glance.

The councillor directed her into the adjacent, empty habsuite to the sparring room. It was almost pitch black in here, the only light coming from a grime-encrusted window - and the sheer density of dust and accumulated filth everywhere seemed to block what little sunlight there was after a point.

"Can you make this quick?" Arcee asked as the door clicked shut. "I  _was_  halfway through a lesson."

"I'm sure you won't be missed too badly," Polaris said. "I know Starscream's told you about Windblade - training her isn't exactly vital, is it?"

"It is to her. Even if it doesn't actually benefit you two."

The smile she received in return was faintly condescending, Arcee thought. She fell silent, sullenly waiting for Polaris to divulge why she'd created this diversion.

"In any case, you've probably guessed I don't want to talk about Windblade. I'm more concerned about you and Starscream."

"You're worried about the rumours, aren't you?" Arcee folded her arms, and felt her wings unconsciously flare slightly.

"In a manner of speaking," Polaris said. "Has he talked to you about what happened?"

"Why do you need to know?" Arcee demanded. "Even as his chief councillor, there's stuff you shouldn't stick your olfactory housing into. And," she added as an afterthought. "If he had, I wouldn't listen. Not when his idea of helping is refusing to listen to  _me_."

Polaris' expression was grim.

"I'd thought as much," she said.

Then, to Arcee's surprise, she stepped forwards and placed a servo on the Autobot's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for what he put you through, Nightracer. Believe it or not, I've already tried talking some sense into him. But I'm sure you know as well as I do how much effect that'll have had."

"So you're not going to tell me I need to help him save face."

The councillor actually laughed at that, letting her arm hang down by her side again. "Primus, no! He's long past that after the war and... well, you'll know that better than anyone now, I'm afraid. I wanted to make sure that you're holding up - I knew from the start you'd be able to handle Starscream as a bondmate, but I'm afraid I didn't anticipate this."

Arcee gaped, unsure how to process this new information. Polaris grinned.

"I may be a politician, Nightracer, but I'm not  _completely_  sparkless. And I was our Winglord's mentor once upon a time. If you need help sorting this out, don't hesitate to stop by my office. I'm sure that between us, we can knock him down to size."

* * *

 

Arcee was still in a slight state of shock when she returned to the ring. Windblade was regarding her curiously, but mercifully didn't ask any questions. The Autobot gave her pupil a smile by way of reassurance, and their lesson resumed.

However, as she was demonstrating a block to Windblade the occupants of the other ring started up another flurry of whispers, ceasing their own practice once again. A glance towards the door gave the femme her reason: none other than the Winglord himself was advancing into the room. She'd hoped that he'd have been and gone whilst she was talking to Polaris, but apparently he'd decided to return.

Arcee pretended not to notice him.

"Okay, you need to bring your arms higher... yeah, like that. Try to lean back a bit more, you're not aiming to get hit"-

"I thought I might find you in here."

The Autobot inhaled deeply before continuing.

"So from here if you're wanting to attack then using your knees is a good idea, if you can get one high enough."

Windblade nodded, but she didn't move - her optics were fixed on the mech behind Arcee and she was biting her lip.

"Ignore him!" the grey femme hissed.

" _Nightracer_ ," Starscream said. She kept her back resolutely turned. "I'm willing to try and help you here. But I really don't have all day"-

-"Because running a city is no mean feat,  _you can assure me_ ," Arcee finished with a growl, finally spinning to look at him. "But I don't need your help. You don't know how to help, so go back to the council tower and carry on not helping Vos, instead of aiming it at me."

"You haven't even heard my offer, yet."

A couple of citadel workers, sensing trouble, had started making for the door. The remaining ones were trying not to eavesdrop too obviously - Arcee doubted there'd been many opportunities for gossip as big as this, before she'd arrived on the scene.

She directed her gaze back to Starscream, and glared.

"I don't need to."

The Winglord's smirk clearly doubted that very much. Whatever he'd cooked up, the Autobot wanted no part in it.

"I challenge you to a sparring match."

Arcee blinked.

"What fragging good will that do?"

"You'd be surprised," Starscream replied, outwardly making no further comment.

Inwardly, however, she felt a nudge against her side of the bond.

**Work with me on this,**  the mech said.  **You'd clearly like nothing better than to make me pay for what I've done. Consider this an opportunity.**

No apology, she noted. But she didn't really expect one. And his proposal was interesting, to say the least - Primus knew beating the slag out of Starscream would help her stop getting so wound up around him. If he was offering himself up willingly...

Arcee nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

_I want a fight,_  she said, opening the bond for the merest second.  _Don't just roll over and take it._

**Wouldn't dream of it.**

Windblade seemed to sense a shift in the atmosphere, and moved backwards. She must have deactivated the ring's barriers, because a second later they vanished - as the bodyguard stepped down, Starscream entered the ring to take her place and the hard-light walls snapped back into position. The remaining citadel workers had given up all pretence of actually sparring by now. They were clustered as close to the Winglord's side of the room as they dared, and Arcee aimed a frown in their direction. It'd be hard enough to keep her composure in front of Windblade, whom she could at least rely on to be understanding - they really didn't need an audience too.

Still, there wasn't much to be done about it. Starscream had already positioned himself opposite her, and while he had yet to assume a combative stance his wings were twitching impatiently when she turned her gaze away from the crowd.

"So, how do we score this?" the femme asked, taking a step forwards.

"What makes you think that'll be necessary?" Starscream began moving to his right, and slipped fluidly into a defensive half-crouch, almost snakelike in the way he shifted. Arcee in turn mimicked the Winglord's posture, hiking her wings up out of the way and joining him in circling the ring.

"How else will we know when this is over?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way to tell me when you're finished."

The mech was grinning - which only increased Arcee's desire to punch him. His expression bore an echo of the leer she remembered from their altercation in the berth, and she knew she wasn't imagining a double meaning behind his words.

"That's if I ever am," she shot back. There was a definite increase in the citadel workers' whispering. "I can't know I've won when you don't give as good as you get."

"That's not what I recall you saying before," Starscream replied, and lunged.

His claws went sailing over her helm as she ducked, but they clipped the tip of one of her still-raised wings. Arcee hissed in pain and lurched to the side, optics narrowing; Starscream whirled to face her and she drew her arm back like a spring and threw a punch. Her fist skimmed the edge of his faceplate when he leaned away just in time.

They separated then, stumbling away from each other to get their bearings - before the femme charged back into the fray with a yell, driving her elbow hard into Starscream's abdomen.

His servos had been raised defensively, allowing her to easily slip beneath them; but that also let him reach and grasp at a wing. The Winglord was carried across the ring by the impact of their collision - he stumbled backwards and dragged Arcee with him as he grappled for a better hold on her struggling frame.

Arcee felt his claws close in. They scratched roughly in their grip, and nearly wrenched her wing from its socket as he abruptly swung her round, making her cry out. She was flung against the nearest barrier and threw out her servos to catch herself, instantly tensing to retaliate as Starscream's footsteps approached.

She aimed a kick, still holding onto the holographic bar. He caught her pede in both servos before her leg could fully extend, and Arcee grinned.

"Careful what you grab, 'Scream."

She shoved her foot into his chest and sent him flying backwards.

"Impressive," Starscream conceded once he'd picked himself up off the floor. "But you're relying far too heavily on external support."

"I use what's there," Arcee retorted, dropping into a crouch and preparing to spring. "Where's the harm in that if it lands you flat on your aft?"

The mech brought his claws slashing down again so she switched tactics, sweeping her leg round in a bid to trip him. He stepped over the obstruction with surprising nimbleness - both their blows missed, but Starscream was quick to deliver a kick of his own that knocked her to the floor. She only just spread her wings in time to stop them being crushed.

"The  _harm_  is that you're not using what's attached to you," the Winglord said. "Your wings should be factored into your fighting style, not hanging there as a hindrance."

Arcee snarled in reply and kicked herself onto her pedes, circling round until she'd forced Starscream into the centre of the ring. As a stress-relief for her to take out her frustration, this wasn't really working. He was landing as many hits as he took, and dodging even more.

_You did ask for a fight._

There was nothing else she could do but up her game. And she grudgingly admitted that Starscream had a point about the wings.

This time when he moved to attack, she was prepared. He was feinting - she could tell by the way he led with the opposite servo - but before he could get his other hand up Arcee struck. She tucked her wings in low and tight, slipped past Starscream's claws once more, and grabbed his other arm, wrenching it round just as it rose towards her. The mech's free servo made a bid for her wing and a knee to his side discouraged it; though it also meant Arcee had to release him to stay on her feet. Her wings flared wide again to help her keep her balance.

They fell to exchanging glancing blows: Starscream aiming scratches at Arcee's lower body as she deflected them and in turn tried to land a series of punches. A quick look to the side informed the femme that their audience had grown. Apparently, news spread quickly around the citadel. She thought she spotted Switchblade in the crowd before talons came sailing towards her helm.

Arcee batted away the attack with one arm, then whipped round to drive the heel of her other servo up under Starscream's chin. The mech staggered, emitting a grunt of pain, and she grinned and advanced, quite prepared to continue in the same vein. That had felt  _good_.

Unfortunately, her newfound confidence would prove to be her undoing. Starscream caught her optic and smirked, before swinging his pede round to connect with her shin. It was Arcee's turn to stumble, and the Winglord laughed as her wings overbalanced her.

"I did think this would be more of a challenge, going in," he said.

The Autobot glared. He'd suggested this for her benefit, supposedly. Why was he gloating?

Then again, she hadn't really expected him to be sensitive about any of this. At least one of them was enjoying it.

"What exactly are you teaching Windblade, if this is how you fight? I wouldn't be surprised if she's worse by the time you've finished with her."

Okay, now she was really slagged off. Starscream didn't even seem finished yet - much as she would've liked to deck him, she fell to staring in disbelief as he continued, advancing at the same time so that she was forced backwards across the ring.

"At least I finally understand why you couldn't protect your friends from the war."

_Is he actually_ asking _to get punched?_

Then she caught the taunting glint in his optics.

_I'll take that as a 'yes'._

Maybe he was hoping to tap into some pocket of suppressed rage, aiming to make her snap entirely. Knowing that would take the edge off her satisfaction, sure... but with such an open invitation, who was she to resist?

Resisting left the question entirely as Starscream's next words left his mouth.

"I wonder how long before Windblade goes the same way?"

With a yell, Arcee charged.

Starscream clearly hadn't been expecting that. The smirk slid off his face and he lifted his servos in defence.

The femme didn't slow when she saw, raising her own arms in readiness to grab him.

_Wings, don't fail me now._

It was too late to stop, in any case. She splayed the appendages in question as wide as they'd go, tilted with the angle of her body; then slammed into him all at once as her pedes lifted from the ground, fingers hooking themselves into plating.

They landed, connected, with an almighty crash, and Starscream's helm rebounded against the floor. A couple of stunned seconds passed as the crowd beyond the ring gaped - then as one burst into agitated chatter, though Arcee noticed that nobody rushed forwards to intervene. She scowled and sat back on the mech's midriff as he blinked groggily up at her.

"I suppose," he groaned, "that it's too late to call for a truce?"

His answer was a punch to the jaw.

* * *

 

Arcee disappeared for the rest of the day after their sparring match. Starscream almost wished he could do the same - their little altercation had become the talk of the citadel, and he didn't doubt that it'd be all over Vos before night fell. Speculation abounded as to what could've angered Nightracer so much that she'd punched her consort; never to said consort's face, of course, but he heard all the same. Polaris was livid, needles to say. The stunt Starscream had pulled was nothing like what she'd instructed him to do, being far too public and drastic for her liking. She wasn't too pleased with his bondmate for rising to it, either.

However, the Winglord had ignored her criticism. She didn't know the half of what was really going on, and the satisfied smirk he'd spotted Arcee wearing as she left the ring put him in high hopes for a temporary ceasefire between them.

If nothing else, he supposed, Chromia would be happy when word reached her about the fight.

For now though, he had the rather pressing matter of a broken bond to resolve. Assuming Arcee would allow it. Trekking through the citadel's upper walkways on the way to his chambers, Starscream steeled himself for the task ahead. It was still light outside, but he wanted this over with as soon as possible - and he doubted Arcee would disagree.

He emerged on the floor below his berthroom, where the rest of his suite was situated. Someone was moving around behind the door; the Winglord was about to go for the controls when it slid open of its own accord.

Arcee regarded him coolly, her lips pressed together, but the tension that normally coiled in her body around her consort seemed to have dissipated a little. Starscream's wings gave a slight, awkward twitch, and her gaze shifted from his face. She shoved past him and headed for the stairs that connected the two top floors.

"Grab a cube or something, and meet me upstairs."

The mech readily obliged, quite prepared to remedy this fiasco and put it behind them. When he eventually entered the berthroom she was cross-legged in a window seat to his right.

"Sit," the femme commanded, gesturing to the berth. Her own energon was clasped in the servo she pointed with.

She watched him as he complied, disposing with her customary glare for once. Starscream arranged himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, tucking his arms and wings in close in an unconscious attempt to appear less of a target.

The staring was starting to grow unsettling. He almost wished she'd switch to a scowl instead.

"You're not sorry."

Starscream blinked in surprise and rebooted his vocaliser.

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "We were at war, and it was the natural course of action. And apart from all else, had Cliffjumper  _not_  been around, it's highly likely that I'd be shuffling about as one of Unicron's undead minions right now. Megatron wanted to use me as a test subject."

The look on her face told him that wasn't winning him any sympathy votes. He changed tack.

"I am... regretful that it damaged you this much, though, rest assured. Believe it or not, I know how you must feel."

"You don't, really," the femme replied. "But I believe that you believe it, so I guess that's good enough."

"Well, you did come rather close to giving me a taste of exactly how you suffered."

"You're sorry about that, though," Arcee pressed.

"About what?"

"About me... finding it. The memory."

"I... yes," Starscream sighed. "I'm sorry you had to see it. And the way it's affected you is... disturbing, to say the least."

His consort sat in silence, her wings unnaturally stiff, and the mech dropped his gaze.

"And," she said eventually, "you're sorry you confessed when you were our captive, and I'm sorry I agreed to go through with this stupid scheme."

He braved a glance upwards. She was smirking faintly.

"And neither of us can change history."

"But you still enjoyed beating the slag out of me," Starscream added ruefully, touching the side of his faceplate where the dent had been buffed out.

"You offered. I'd be insulting Cliff's memory if I didn't take you up on it. Plus, it felt great."

The Winglord snorted quietly.

"Thanks for that, actually. The severed bond thing keeps getting me confused about which bits are me and which are you. It helped, hitting things and realising they weren't hurting - I knew those bits weren't me."

He sensed a double meaning behind that and stayed quiet, hoping she'd elaborate.

"You got off lightly," she informed him. "I think part of why I'm mad at you is 'cause you've done all this slag, and you're not sorry, and  _I'm_  the one who got screwed over when the bond broke. Would've been nice if you got the nightmares, instead."

"Not for me, I'm sure."

"Yeah, well, I think even you can admit you deserve it more." She sighed.

"It hurt enough just seeing him, Starscream. Then this slag started and it felt like I was being punished - and I was half convinced I deserved it, that I was the one who killed him. I know you're not sorry, but don't you regret it? At all? After all the shit it's caused?"

The Winglord frowned at the floor.

"I honestly can't recall any one death that's caused quite so much...  _shit_ , as you eloquently put it," he admitted; the human word tasting foreign, if oddly fitting, on his tongue. "If you ask me, the whole thing's been blown out of proportion"-

-"And that started when one mech couldn't keep his mouth shut or stop bragging"-

-" _But._ " His claws tapped a staccato rhythm against the edge of the berth. "If it's any consolation... had I known what would happen at the time, I still don't think I would have changed things. I always seem to act for the moment at hand, ultimately. Call it a failing of mine; Primus knows I have plenty. But if I could alter the past from where I stand  _now_ , I wouldn't have things progress quite the way they did."

Arcee nodded, seeming to realise that was the best she'd get.

"Well," she said, "that's one spark-to-spark done, I guess. Do you wanna have another go at the other kind?"

"I suppose that's for the best."

Without another word the femme unfolded herself from the window seat, and walked to stand before him.

"Same way as last time?"

"I don't see why not." He sat back a little to allow her to sink onto his lap. Her servos came up to brace against his chassis.

"I'll start," Arcee murmured. Seconds later Starscream heard the tell-tale clicks and whirs as her armour slid back, and dropped his gaze to their source. Once again, he found himself fighting an urge to reach out and touch. Her spark was almost entirely white, shot through with the faintest touches of blue. He knew his own was much denser than the femme's; Arcee's lifeforce clearly didn't want to be weighed down by anything. It crackled and surged and seemed to be daring him to come any closer. The edges of its corona were jagged - thin strands of energy arced outwards and away as though trying to escape, like trapped lightning.

Briefly, the mech wondered if they'd actually shock him, were he to touch them.

He didn't have long to dwell on that, however: now it was his turn. Arcee barely glanced down as the Winglord's plating slid aside, and he assumed she'd gotten her fill of looking last time. Hardly surprising that she didn't want to see his spark, knowing what it contained.

There was none of the previous nervousness, this second time around. The femme tapped Starscream's shoulder impatiently to make him look up, then leaned in - though he noted that she'd shut her optics, just as with the interfacing. It was somewhat admirable, the way she plunged into this despite how repulsed she must surely be feeling.

The now-familiar buzz of their coronas meeting started up, and Starscream snaked an arm around Arcee's waist, digits splayed against her back in the space between her wings.

They slipped together far more easily this time, with no panic on the femme's part and less of a shock as their cores connected. Whether that was down to an absence of first-time jitters or because the bond was desperate to complete itself, the Winglord wasn't sure. His consort rested her chin on his shoulder and that was the last he knew of the physical world for a while.

Just as before, he felt drawn to that space at the centre of Arcee's being: echoes of its presence were everywhere, and they tugged him this way and that, but none of them completely drowned out the thing itself. Nevertheless, he chose to steer clear. After his previous experience - feeling safe yet, equally, unwanted - he wasn't eager for a repeat. And his unease was surely nothing compared to how the femme would feel, knowing he'd been there again.

Concern for her was something of a novel concept, but Starscream needed to exercise it if this mission was to succeed.

Resolution duly made, the mech settled for exploring Arcee's memories instead. Following a trace of her protectiveness he found himself deep in her recollections of the human she'd befriended. There was a fondness woven through this part of her that was overshadowed by something newer and more raw.

Starscream had already seen the reason for that. He gave a mental shudder as fragments of said reason started to leak into his processor: the dead human female and her protector who'd been dashed against the wall he could quite easily deal with, but it was the nature of Airachnid's escape that troubled him. As Arcee he had stood, blaster primed and aimed between the spider's eyes - only to have her leap at him the moment the pod was deactivated.

Apparently, she'd been expecting them.

Those memories, with their razor-sharp talon flashes and helicopter blades swishing like scythes, were also given a wide berth. The Winglord was beginning to set his own barriers within Arcee's consciousness; parts of her he'd rather not see again. Perhaps that was for the best, given the nature of their agreement.

Much to his chagrin, however, Starscream was also coming to notice ways he connected with the femme. They were both carefully guarded inside and out, and he could almost see himself in the way she ached over past losses. Here, though, they were also different. While his trinemates' disappearance was one of the few things that had hung on to pain him all these years, he'd kept it buried deep in his processor. He rarely touched those memories, but Arcee seemed to loop through her own often; they were a mantra, a reminder of how she'd failed one friend after another.

Speaking of failed friends...

His musings were clearly affecting his direction through the Autobot's memories. The next face to swim before him was one he recognised; if for all the wrong reasons. It certainly felt odd to be viewing Cliffjumper through Arcee's optics - as a friend and a loved one, instead of a dead enemy - and Starscream was slightly unsettled by the train of thought he now moved through.

The influence of Arcee's protectiveness was back in full force here, and once again he had to resist the pull of her core. Starscream wasn't quite sure what to think, watching Cliffjumper grinning at him in a Kaon cell and feeling concern swell within him. Particularly as seeing the mech's face again was dredging up that old memory from the  _Nemesis_. The two were melding together - Starscream was raising his servo to strike whilst simultaneously fretting over his victim's safety. All of a sudden, he could understand Arcee's panic.

He was getting a little frantic himself now, as the two scenes conflicted before him. Then, without warning, he was back in that nightmarish dreamscape he'd glimpsed before and  _Thundercracker_  knelt on the floor in front of him -

And Starscream wanted out.

**_Now_ ** **do you see my problem?**

_... Perhaps,_  he admitted.  _How much longer must I endure this for?_

**How would I know? I've done this as many times as you have.**

She was gone again after that - but he didn't fail to note the slight shift she'd induced, somehow pulling him out of those troubling thoughts and onto more neutral ground.

... Or perhaps that hadn't been her. Not consciously, at least. Her centre was drawing him in more strongly by the second, and Starscream dared to think that might be a sign of the bond completing itself.

(Or, a fleeting idea suggested, it might even be instinct; sensing another soul in distress and pulling it closer).

He finally let himself be led inwards, impatient for this all to be over.

As he felt that sensation of safety overwhelm him for a second time, however, the Winglord caught a glimpse of one last memory - one that he'd certainly be questioning Arcee about later.

* * *

 

Three days later, and Arcee was feeling well-rested for the first time since the bonding ceremony. She'd returned to her makeshift berth in the sitting room, the nightmares had retreated - and, finally, the chatter about her rift with Starscream and the sparring ring incident was beginning to die down. She wasn't fully recovered from what'd happened (she doubted she would be for even years to come), but things were looking up. And she could live with that.

She blamed her good mood for the fact that she'd responded without protest when the Winglord summoned her to his office; even though it was getting late, and she'd been about to hit the washracks to wind down a bit.

Heavy golden light striped her path along the corridor to the council tower. For everything wrong with this city, Arcee had to admit that sunset brought out the best in it - anything with the slightest bit of shine left to it gleamed, and the encroaching shadows obscured the less savoury bits. She drifted towards a window, figuring that Starscream could wait on her for a couple of minutes if he so desperately wanted her presence.

The sun was setting on the other side of the citadel; from here, night had almost fallen already. A few lighted windows made a half-sparked effort at diffusing the darkness, but what with Vos' energy troubles they were few and far between even in this area.

The glow from the citadel's lamps, however, was just bright enough for Arcee to make out sudden movement down near the front tower. A flash of bronze - or maybe gold - plating, nothing more; but it was headed for a window, not one of the side doors.

"Hey!"

That had been stupid - there was no way they'd hear her from here. She fumbled for the panel that the window controls were housed in, opening a commlink with her other servo.

"Windblade! There's someone trying to break into the citadel!"

:: _What?!_ ::

"They're round by - hang on -  _Hey!_  The frag do you think you're doing?"

The figure down below gave a start and stared up at the now-open window guiltily. Their optics were shielded with a servo, and she couldn't make out the colour. As the pair faced off, the first strains of a commotion floated up towards Arcee.

_Scrap._  The poor slagger clearly had no idea what they were doing. If they'd meant any real harm, she'd probably have been shot at or something by now. Even from here, she could see there was a distinctly helpless slump to their shoulders and their - were those wings, behind them? She couldn't tell at this angle.

It didn't matter, anyway. She wasn't going to have to pick them out of a lineup; at least, not if she could help it. Pit knew what kind of trouble she'd cause for them if they got captured.

:: _Nightracer?_ ::

The poor thing was still frozen to the spot, watching her with an air of trepidation.

"Get out of here!" Arcee hissed as she cut off the commlink, praying that they'd hear her. She made a few shooing gestures for good measure and they took the hint, slipping back into the shadows of the tower and sprinting off.

Perhaps she'd just made a mistake. But Arcee knew 'dangerous criminal', and she knew 'idiot trying their luck', and Primus knew there'd be enough of the latter around with Vos in its current state. She wasn't about to stir up needless trouble, especially with the sparring incident still fresh in everyone's processors.

Starscream was walking away from his office as she approached it.

"What's this Windblade tells me about an intruder?"

"False alarm," Arcee bit out quickly. "I saw someone hanging round outside, but they fragged off before I could get a visual."

"And you overreacted to the point of assuming they were trying to break in? I find that hard to believe."

"Well, believe it. I overreacted. What did you want to see me about?"

Starscream eyed her skeptically, but let the matter drop - he seemed to have more pressing things on his mind. He motioned towards his office and Arcee followed him back inside.

"Have a seat, Nightracer."

The femme quirked an eyebrow at his unusually civil manner, and slipped into the chair before his desk.

"I've received... news," Starscream told her hesitantly. "I can't say that you'll like it."

"It must be bad, if you're actually being polite." She paused, taking in his expression. "No - there's the frown I know and hate."

"You won't be so flippant when you hear this," he warned.

"Fine. Tell me. Get it over with. I was about to hit the washracks before you called."

Starscream inhaled, clasping his servos before him on the desk.

"We've been summoned on progress to Iacon. Megatron wants to meet my new consort - and no doubt test the validity of our bond."

Arcee blinked.

"What?"


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Progress and Report

Starscream, it seemed, didn't enjoy travelling by shuttle very much. Arcee could understand his reasoning, she supposed. He'd explained (rather irritably) at the start how unnatural it felt to him - strapped down and feeling the craft flying whilst desperate to stretch his wings himself.

She still didn't see why he needed to fidget so much.

"Sit  _still_ ," she hissed, grabbing his leg to stop him drumming his pede on the floor. "Bad enough I've gotta be next to you as it is - quit pissing me off even more."

"It's not intentional, I assure you," the mech replied, shooting a jittery glance through the window. He gave a snarl of frustration. "I can't even  _see_  Iacon yet! And for your information, Metalhawk's not faring much better than I am."

"Yeah, but I'm not sitting next to Metalhawk." Arcee sighed, bending her arm up to rest her cheek on a fist. "I wish Windblade was here."

"Be thankful she's not," Starscream said. "You'd still be expected to sit with me for this journey, and we'd only be putting her at risk. I wouldn't put it past Shockwave or Megatron to have her kidnapped."

"Because that's something you'd do, right?"

Starscream rolled his optics.

"Although, at least if she's back at the Citadel there's someone to stop Polaris ripping out my sparring ring."

The Winglord smirked. "I suppose in a way, it's fortunate she had that flying accident."

The femme shot him a dirty look, which did nothing to wipe the grin off his face.

"You could've told me you were planning that," she muttered. "I thought she was in real trouble."

"But then your response wouldn't have been nearly as realistic. Or amusing. Your acting skills aren't exactly stellar as things stand." She could still hear the mirth in his voice, and responded to it by swatting him on the arm.

"Shut up. We haven't been caught yet - that's gotta count for something."

"But you didn't know anyone in Vos from before," Starscream said, voice low and suddenly more sober. "You'll have to be extremely careful. We both will."

Arcee was saved from replying by Metalhawk calling over to them.

"Starscream? Sir? Apparently we're coming in to land soon."

"What?" the Winglord demanded. "I didn't see Iacon anywhere last I checked, and that was seconds ago!"

It was Arcee's turn to laugh.

"Wrong window," she said, jerking her thumb towards the opposite side of the craft. Outside, Cybertron's capital sprawled below them, teeming with life and gleaming in the sun.

Starscream huffed, and turned to glare out of his own window. His view soon filled with its own panorama of Iacon - Arcee would know, as she'd leant over his shoulder to see for herself.

"Kinda weird, looking at it from this angle," she mused, quietly.

Starscream gave a hum of assent. "I've seen it from the air plenty of times before, but it always feels slightly disconcerting when I'm inside a shuttle."

The femme noticed him looking sideways at her as she reclined once more.

"It was also strange seeing Vos from a grounder's point of view - and before the war, no less."

Arcee froze.

"We'll talk about that later," she hissed. "Not now. Not right before I have to make nice with Megatron."

"You're not the only one dreading that, trust me," Starscream muttered as the craft began to descend.

* * *

 

The shuttle dock they'd been directed to was right in the centre of the city - which made sense, given that the council chambers were close by. But it also meant they got stared at a lot. Optics were on them from the moment they disembarked, though that might have been partly because Arcee refused to let Starscream help her down: her shove to reject him had sent him staggering back against the side of the craft with a loud  _clang_.

(Arcee had distinctly heard a snort of amusement from Metalhawk, behind her).

Now they were crossing the teeming shuttle port, arm in arm to keep up appearances, and the crowds that they passed through were practically buzzing. The femme blamed that largely on the hulking, severely-polished guards who'd met them at the dock - without them, the three seekers might have gone unnoticed.

But of course, Megatron wouldn't allow them that.

A shuttle rumbled past above the station as they neared the exit, masking everyone's chatter and bustle for a few brief kliks. Glancing up at its underbelly through the translucent overhead cover, Arcee wished she was on board. She didn't particularly care what its destination was - anywhere had to be better than 'en route to a meeting with the Great Slagmaker'.

The gates in front of them slid aside and Starscream groaned.

"Wonderful. More needlessly constricting transport."

"It's not as bad as the shuttle," Arcee said, scrutinising the armoured vehicle that'd been sent to pick them up. It was sleek and dark grey with tinted windows - there was something almost ominous about it, to the point that she herself wasn't too happy about climbing inside it. Nevertheless...

"At least this one's on the ground."

"That's  _worse_ ," Starscream griped, as though it were obvious; although he didn't elaborate as to why. However, he still started forwards when she tugged at his arm.

Both Starscream and Metalhawk seemed displeased with their new mode of transport. To distract herself from the collection of anxious tics that soon sprang up between them, Arcee turned to the window to take in the sights.

Iacon shone more brightly than she could ever remember.  _Too_  brightly. As though it were hiding something.

This wasn't her birthplace, exactly; but she'd attended the War Academy here and met most of those whom she included in her 'family' during that time. The city would always hold a special significance for her because of that, and the Academy was where she'd really come into her own. In a way, she supposed, the real Arcee - Autobot Arcee, who had had to pick a side and grow up, and then grow some more as a person in order to survive - was created here.

She recognised a few landmarks from her time here early in the war. The street leading to Maccadam's, Avalon Boulevard... and one of her favourite bars, which she was surprised to see back in business. Apparently, the owners had thrown their lot in with the 'Cons at some point. The city centre had never been as frequent a haunt for her, with the Academy so far over to the east; but even from her scattered memories of this area she could tell things had changed. Though she'd been far too late to see Iacon in its true glory days it'd held up well under the threat of war at first, and there'd always been a sort of irrepressible eclecticness to her favourite parts. Arcee knew that had become prevalent only as the Council lost power - but it was the Iacon she'd known, with its haphazard neon signs, skyline full of mismatched shapes, and a feeling of newborn resilience that stemmed from the tantalising promise of change.

Of course, it'd eventually crumbled and died like the rest of Cybertron as the war raged on. But as the femme watched, she felt that in some ways she'd rather see it still in ruins than like this.

Iacon under Megatron's rule was too...  _uniform_. Too regimented. It put up a facade of normality; on the surface it  _looked_  more or less the same, albeit with a higher proportion of dark paintjobs and heavily-armoured frames wandering around. Yet, there were subtle differences that betrayed the city's true nature, like flickers of static in a hologram. Nearly everyone carried visible weapons, and militarised altmodes abounded; vehicon troopers, chests emblazoned with rank insignias, patrolled the streets. There were still bright neon signs scattered around liberally - but when Arcee looked more closely she discovered that most bore propaganda messages. They'd had those in prewar Iacon, but never in such huge quantities.

Their transport passed a billboard depicting Optimus Prime with his arm gun pressed to a Decepticon's temple. Arcee had never seen him look so murderous in real life, and she had to hide a shudder at his expression.

The vehicle turned a corner at that moment onto a wide, busy avenue. At one end, if she squinted, the femme could just spot the city's distant outer wall above the rooftops; and at the other -

"Megatron's been redecorating."

Starscream gave an amused hum beside her. "Hardly in good taste, either."

Iacon's High Council Tower had changed rather drastically. Gone was the sleek golden spire, with chambers clustered like a honeycomb around its base. Now it was almost a twin of Darkmount in Kaon, covered in wickedly sharp outcroppings and jagged edges. The whole thing would have been ridiculously out of place compared to the relatively mundane architecture surrounding it - were it not also so menacing; a concrete and unwavering reminder of who controlled the city. And, indeed, Cybertron.

"I take back everything I said about the statue," Arcee muttered to her bondmate. " _He_  clearly has far bigger problems."

The Winglord snorted in genuine laughter at that, and she wondered at the fact that they were being so civil towards each other. Apparently all it took was the looming presence of Cybertron's Lord Protector, and imminent threat of discovery.

Their vehicle was given a wide berth wherever possible on its journey, Arcee didn't fail to notice. There hadn't been any obvious sigil on its exterior, but transport of its ilk was probably a common sight in these parts. At least nobody could stop and stare in moving traffic; and that traffic thinned anyway as the Council Tower grew larger before them.

Soon, the three seekers were facing a pair of equally towering gates. Admittance was granted almost immediately, but not without a generous serving of clanks and rumbles along the way.

Starscream grimaced beside her at the noise, but Arcee was too busy trying to read the glyphs in the gates' dark metal to be bothered by that. She didn't manage to make anything out clearly before the Winglord tapped her shoulder.

"If you think the citadel is needless extravagance," he said, "you should see this."

The femme turned her helm to look instead at the view before them. They were being driven past a wide, rectangular lake that was as flat and impassive as if someone had dropped a mirror down beside them. On the opposite shore, a series of delicate spires stretched upwards like jagged fingers - they didn't look structurally sound enough to be anything but lavish decoration. They were mirrored, through the vehicle's opposite window, by a long, low building of almost black metal, facing the road from across an open courtyard.

"That's the entrance to Base Alpha Zero," Starscream informed her. "Alpha One already existed, of course, but Decepticon command operating from the heart of Iacon was a given, so they took liberties."

"I know that," Arcee whispered.

"Nightracer doesn't."

"Not really  _extravagant_  though, is it?"

"Up ahead," was all the reply she received.

_Up ahead_ , she soon discovered, meant the Darkmount-esque tower looming at the top of a slight rise. And to either side -

"You sure this isn't just about crystal envy, 'Scream?"

The Winglord responded with a deadpan stare, but despite her comment she took his point. Iacon's Council Tower was flanked by rows of tall, slender columns, all sporting jagged mineral growths in mismatched, vibrant hues. As far as the femme could tell, more of their kind extended to surround the building.

"Makes you wonder how he's sustaining it all."

"I'm sure he was more than happy to cut resources elsewhere," Starscream replied snidely. "All this display is an act, of course. He reviles this sort of thing in truth, but it's necessary if he wants to maintain the illusion of being peaceful and respectable - especially to non-Cybertronians, when he chooses not to attack them outright. I've had my fair share of dealing with offworld visitors and there's certain... standards you're best to meet, if you want to convince some species that you're actually civilised and not inherently warlike." The mech's mouth had drawn itself into a thin line. "Of course, I know what lies beneath all this and it's far from attractive."

"He's too military-minded," Arcee agreed. "All these conquests on other worlds... That's not the way to rule if he wants to keep Cybertron alive for long."

"Aren't we all somewhat like that, by now?" Starscream asked, voice low enough that Metalhawk wouldn't hear.

She was about to retort with a snap, knowing what he'd been implying - but at that moment the vehicle drifted to a stop.

"We're here."

"You don't say," Arcee muttered; but her nerves made the jab half-hearted. As the seekers disembarked, closely followed by their eerily silent guards, they found themselves facing a flight of shallow golden steps. A low rumble just above their heads drew all optics upwards, in time to see the tower's thick, carved bronze doors sliding open.

Next to the femme's audio, Starscream made a small, apprehensive sound. She stretched out an arm to loop it through his.

"C'mon. He'll be waiting."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Arcee sighed, but she didn't disagree. She had to make a conscious effort to force herself up those steps; far from eager to test whether a paint job and Praxian accent were enough to disguise the femme who'd been known - and hated - by the 'Cons on Earth.

* * *

 

He was waiting for them right in the centre of the entrance hall. Starscream remembered this place acutely, having stayed here with most of the other officers while the Lock rebuilt Vos, but he could quite happily have gone the rest of his life without revisiting Megatron's domain.

Though that was of course out of the question, if he wanted the rest of his life to be any great length of time.

As such he affixed a small, courteous smile to his faceplates and hoped, without any real conviction, that the warlord wouldn't see through it.

"Starscream," Megatron called out as they approached. He made no move to meet them. "It's been a long time since I last saw you in Iacon."

"Indeed it has, my liege."  _Not nearly long enough._

Thankfully if that'd shown in his expression the Lord Protector would never find out - he'd already transferred his attention to Arcee.

"And this must be Nightracer."

Starscream felt her arm tense where it was linked through his, but only for a nanoklik. The next moment Arcee was smiling graciously and inclining her helm in a respectful nod.

"Lord Megatron. It's an honour to finally meet you in person."

"Likewise, Lady Nightracer." The warlord gave a tiny bow, but the grin he wore was far from welcoming. Starscream knew he'd be lying in wait the entire time they were here, watching for any crack in their facade. And when his eyes weren't on them, Soundwave's would be.

Just then, the Winglord heard Metalhawk shift slightly behind him - he turned his helm to see what had caught his advisor's attention, and came face to face with a tall seeker femme who'd emerged from a side door. Her plating was mint green and purple, and her angular optics glowed wickedly bright. It was a little unsettling to realise how easily she'd crept up on them.

"Ah yes," Megatron said, smirking and gesturing to her. "Starscream, Nightracer, I'd like you to meet"-

"Slipstream, I presume," Starscream finished, frowning as he looked back at the femme.

She grinned. "Guilty. I'll be showing you to your suite, if you'll let me."

"I thought you had a base to command in Kalis," Arcee chipped in. Her purple optics were distinctly frosty in their gaze.

"They can manage without me for a few days, I'm sure. I couldn't pass up the chance to meet the fabled Lady Nightracer when it was offered."

Starscream knew exactly why she'd had that opportunity. Yet in spite of his mounting irritation at this whole debacle, he kept as placid an expression as he could manage, striving to appear none the wiser as he addressed Megatron again.

"I take it that we're dismissed? My lord?" He tacked the last on hastily.

"Unfortunately, yes," the warlord replied. "I've got a few things to see to this morning. But rest assured, Starscream - we will find time to talk later."

The Winglord suppressed a shudder. Arcee appeared not to notice Megatron's parting epithet: she and Metalhawk had already started to follow Slipstream across the hall. When Starscream caught up to them, his bondmate was frowning.

"So, how many other Decepticons left their posts just to see me?" Despite her obvious worry, the femme's tone was light.

He could guess why she was asking; but even an innocuous question like that might lead to trouble, if Arcee didn't like what she heard. The mech was about to change the subject - with a warning glance at the Autobot - before Slipstream replied.

"Oh, it's only me." She smirked again, and Starscream couldn't miss the sidelong look he received. "I've been given special permission. The others you'll see round here are all regulars."

"I trust Knock Out's still here, then?" the Winglord asked. "Or has Shockwave called him away to Protihex again?"

"No, he's around somewhere. Dreadwing, too." When Starscream was unable to contain a faint noise of derision, Slipstream laughed. "I heard there was bad blood between you two - it can't be easy for you, knowing he's calling the shots up here while you're stuck in Vos."

That stung, but for once the mech didn't rise. Apart from anything else, a permanent post in Iacon was a phenomenally bad idea given who walked beside him.

... And who, unless he was much mistaken, was getting treated to a series of exclusionary tactics courtesy of Slipstream. The Decepticon femme was largely ignoring his bondmate, and as Starscream was dwelling on this she squeezed between the pair - with a flare of her wings, that wasn't quite subtle enough to hide her intent to block his view of Arcee.

Oh, it was excruciatingly clear what game Megatron was playing at.

He was determined not to lose this thread of conversation, though. Arcee evidently had a particular issue in mind and if worst came to worst, Starscream wanted forewarning.

"What about Airachnid?"

Even on the other side of Slipstream, he saw the Autobot's wings stiffen.

"She's offworld," came the reply, and to the Winglord's surprise it was accompanied by an expression of what could only be distaste. "Unfortunately. I was hoping to run into her while I was up here."

Arcee looked ready to retort, but Starscream slipped nimbly round the back of both femmes and brushed a servo against her forearm as he took up a place by her side. Once he'd fallen into step again he added a warning glance for good measure.

"I can't say I share that sentiment," he said. Meeting Slipstream's optics again he was unsurprised to discover that her frown had deepened at his evasion.

_If you are playing that game, Megatron, you might've picked a better actress._

Though looking at his own choice, he perhaps wasn't in a position to criticise.

* * *

 

The spires Arcee had glimpsed across the lake were, she soon discovered, actually functional as buildings. They served as guest accommodation, and she and Starscream were occupying - yet again - a suite at the very top of one tower, with Metalhawk on the floor below. Unfortunately this habsuite wasn't equipped with an anteroom, which meant they were back to sharing a berth.

One small mercy was that Starscream had been detained at a meeting well into their first evening - giving Arcee ample time to slip into recharge before he returned. He was also gone by the time she awoke. If it weren't for the rumpled sheeting on his side of the berth, she might've suspected he was never there.

In fact it was a while before she even noticed that; being a little too distracted by the noise in the corridor that'd roused her.

Groggily, the femme pushed herself upright and swung her pedes out of bed, screwing her optics up against the midmorning light that peered in at the window until her filters adjusted.

"Who'zere?"

Maybe Metalhwak wanted something.

Arcee reached the door and slammed her servo a little too heavily against the controls, before sticking her helm out to squint at the corridor. It didn't look like there was anyone about. She frowned and stepped out into the passage.

Something brushed her shoulder with the barest  _clink_.

Immediately, the femme was alert and wary. For all she knew, that'd been a shot that barely missed, or something equally malicious and even less forthright. Then a second noise sounded from inside the suite, and battle instincts kicked in with full force.

She winced slightly at how loudly her footsteps rang, as she crept back towards the room - all the while scanning around for something to use as a weapon. Starscream had left a datapad on a nearby table, just beside the door. It wasn't much, but it was heavy enough to leave a dent if thrown; she hefted it and advanced some more, trying to determine where the intruder could've hidden.

"Who's there?" she demanded, more coherently than last time. "Show yourself! I'm armed."

A dry chuckle sounded from near the berth, and Arcee whipped round to face that spot.

"I'd hardly call that an effective weapon, Lady Nightracer."

That was most likely a mech's voice; coloured, if she wasn't mistaken, with a faint shade of an Upper Iaconian accent.

Suddenly, the femme had a much better idea of where things stood.

_"Our contact in Iacon has confirmed Starscream's story..."_

Although there was no guarantee he knew who she really was, even if her suspicions were correct.

"Who are you?" she asked insistently, narrowing her optics for good measure. " _Where_  are you? Is this a comm. feed you've got going or something?"

"I'm afraid I can't reveal the tools of my trade, my lady," the mech replied. "But just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not around, and I promise you - I'm a friend. It's dangerous for you to be in Iacon at the present time, so consider me something of a guardian angel."

"Who sent this angel?"

"That I can't say, but I swear I mean you no harm. After all - if I did, why would I reveal myself? I could've eliminated you without you ever knowing I was here."

Arcee might have replied that there were all manner of reasons for not removing a target straight away: intent to manipulate, seeking a better opportunity - or just for a bit of plain sadistic fun. But Nightracer's first thoughts were not so fine-tuned, and here of all places Nightracer's perception of the world had to be hers first and foremost.

"I wouldn't call this revealing yourself. Anyway; what danger am I in that I don't know about already? I'm bonded to Starscream - I think that's enough, in a city controlled by Megatron."

She paused, frowning, as a thought occurred to her that Nightracer would conceivably voice.

"Wait - how do I know we're not being watched?"

The mech laughed again.

"Oh, you're quick. Don't worry - I've plenty of tricks in my subspace to stop anyone listening in." Then, just like that, the humour bled from his voice.

"In all seriousness though, Nightracer, you need to be careful. You have enemies everywhere"-

"No slag," Arcee muttered.

-"but it goes further than that. Slipstream wasn't just summoned here because Megatron's got it into his helm she can entice Starscream away. Starscream hasn't been called on this  _royal progress_  just to have his bond with you scrutinised. I doubt anybody else will tell you this if I don't, but you need to know - there is trouble in Kalis. The seekers there are restless, and it could spell trouble for you and yours."

"Why do  _I_  have to know this?" Arcee asked sharply, suddenly deeply concerned. The last thing they needed was more suspicion from Megatron, especially while they were right in his territory. "I'm grateful for the warning, but... why me? Why not give this information to Starscream?"

"My... superiors don't wish to ally themselves with Starscream," the mech replied. "But I've been ordered to give the message to you. I'm also to tell you this: 'Be wary around anyone calling themselves an Autobot. You won't just be incriminating yourself.'"

The femme bit her lip in confusion, mulling over those words in her CPU. If her messenger was who she thought he was, that  _really_  didn't make sense.

"And Nightracer - one more thing," the disembodied voice added. "This is direct from me to you, no orders:  _trust nobody_. You're somewhat under the radar for now, but if the whispers I've heard are correct then that's about to change. And you cannot let Megatron best you. I've had that drummed into me enough by the powers that be."

"If I'm supposed to trust nobody, why are you an exception? I don't even know your name."

The voice seemed to hesitate for a nanoklik.

"Call me Ghost."

Light footsteps tapped their way in Arcee's direction, but she made no move to intercept the mech. Indeed, she stepped out of his path; folding her arms with a smirk as she watched the door open and then close seemingly of its own accord.

_Ghost, huh?_

It was a decent enough codename as they went, and pretty watertight - unless you'd happened to be hanging around the Orbital Command Hub, when said Command were looking for mechs to run recon on a Kaon prison break, sometime in the middle of the war. And wound up on the team with someone who had that very same alter ego in his sizeable arsenal. She'd had a face to put to the name last time, but what with the accent Arcee didn't see that it could be anyone else.

Either Mirage was getting sloppy, using the same name twice... or he simply never imagined the nervy little out-of-her-depth Neutral that Starscream had snagged might've heard that one before. And regardless of the spy's tactics, this would be a nice story to take back to Hound.

* * *

 

"You need to keep a tighter leash on your seekers, Starscream."

And there it was - the real reason for the summons, after hours of dancing around things. Purely to keep him on edge, of course. As the Winglord scanned the datapad Megatron passed him across the table, he wondered at the fact that this was only now being addressed: the reports he saw before him dated back several weeks. And none of them were from Vos...

"Ah, Lord Megatron, if I may - these incidents surely fall under Slipstream's jurisdiction, being from Kalis?"

"Technically, yes," the femme herself cut in. "But they came to my jurisdiction from  _your_ city." She paused, allowing herself a dangerous smirk. "Whatever have you been telling them, Starscream?"

At first he'd been grateful when Slipstream's 'affable' facade had crumbled, revealing someone sharp and calculating. (Megatron seemed far less pleased with this development; clearly, he'd intended to maintain the pretence). Having to tolerate her excruciating falseness on top of everything else was irksome - but now she was proving that, while lacking as an actor, she made up for it tenfold in cunning.

He was finding her incessant probing increasingly irritating. This wasn't unlike a conversation with Polaris, albeit lacking a little of her subtlety; and the sudden, unnecessary moral lectures she was fond of dishing out. Though she certainly lent some finesse to the Lord Protector's usual modus operandi for these sort of matters.

_Perhaps Slipstream should pursue Megatron instead of myself. Though that's a force I'd never want to reckon with._

"Nothing of import, I'm sure," he snapped, in reply to the femme. "It isn't as though I personally interview every soldier that I relinquish."

Although many nowadays were far from actual warriors. Vos was operating on a skeleton crew of defences, having to draft civilians in more often than not - and he didn't doubt that was exactly how Megatron wanted it.

At least they had nothing to fear from the Autobots.

"I know you are not personally responsible, Starscream," Megatron growled. "But much as you excel at deflecting blame, you indirectly caused this. And it falls to you to fix it."

"How am I to do that, my lord?" He glanced back at the datapad, briefly pulling his mouth into a thin line before continuing. "If you truly believe that these seekers are Autobot sympathisers"-

"There's no  _believe_  about it," Slipstream cut in. "I've heard the recordings myself - they're under my jurisdiction, after all."

"Even so, there's no way of knowing why this came about," the Winglord protested. Annoying though Slipstream could be, he was almost glad for her presence at this moment; Megatron certainly wouldn't have taken kindly to contradictions if he'd been the one arguing this point.

More worryingly, Megatron  _knew_  Starscream. Any lies he told in this room would have to be closely guarded, and mistakes could spell complete disaster if the seeker wasn't careful.

"I have more than a few theories," Megatron muttered darkly. "Most of them related to the company you keep."

"I... my liege?"

"Do not play ignorant with me, Starscream!" he snarled, slamming his fist into the tabletop. "I gave you your city as you asked, and you repaid me by opening its gates to the Neutrals. Did you not think that, in turn, they might shelter Autobots? That they might encourage support for our enemies?! Switchblade has all but publicly announced his rejection of the Cause since you appointed him!"

That was, of course, not too far from his actual reasoning. The Winglord remained silent, optics wide and digits tight on the armrests of his chair.

Megatron slowly slid his own servo away from where it had landed.

"I want your Neutral citizens out of Vos. This has continued long enough."

Starscream gave a start at that.

"What?! Lord Megatron, please! There's surely a more logical way around this"-

"Then suggest one," Slipstream bit out. "These rebels all originate from your city, and I want no more of their kind in my base. We need to stop this at its source - and  _you_  happen to be in command of that source."

"Starscream," Megatron growled, "you will allow my troops to search your city for Neutrals and Autobot sympathisers. I don't trust you to do the job yourself."

"And who knows," Slipstream smirked. "Maybe they'll even find an actual Autobot or two."

_More than one or two, no doubt. And in far plainer sight than you'd imagine. Why did I ever make this alliance?_

"And... and what about my councillors? Polaris? Red Wing? Sandstorm?"

"Well..." Megatron tilted his helm to the side, a wickedly barbed grin splitting his face. "I'm sure they knew the dangers of the position when they agreed. This shouldn't come as too much of a shock to them."

Starscream's wings gave a fearful twitch.

"The same goes for your bodyguard, I'd imagine. And that advisor you so obligingly brought with you."

_Metalhawk_.

"My liege, please - I can vouch for their loyalty, all of them"-

"And then, of course, there's your  _sparkmate_..."

_Oh, Unicron have mercy._

"We'll have to fill in the gaps left behind, of course. Slipstream would be an excellent candidate for your chief councillor, don't you think?"

He couldn't let this happen. Vos was already too distanced from Megatron's regime - if the Decepticons siezed it now, the seekers would be crushed.

"Wait!" he yelped. "My lord, I... I have a different solution."

"As the humans say, Starscream, I'm all ears."

"If... if you storm in and forcibly remove people, that will only serve to strengthen these insurrectionists' convictions. And they're in a position to do damage, if they saw fit to retaliate. If they truly subscribe to the Autobots' manifesto, they may have the same self-sacrificial ideas."

"Your point?"

"Why - why not direct your retribution at them?" The rest of a plan fell into his CPU at that, and he almost smirked.

"Make an example of them, Lord Megatron. Why punish so many for something that hasn't happened yet, when you can use these few to ensure that you never have to deal with it? Think about what your proposal would do to Vos' output. This seems far less... complicated, surely?"

Slipstream was looking contemplative.

"He does have a point," she admitted - though she scowled as she said it. "We'd have to bring them to task anyway, but if we make it public enough... The video evidence I've received should be enough to convict them. And in any case, we'd be hard pressed to find the troops to do a thorough sweep of the city."

Megatron nodded, seemingly satisfied with this. Inwardly, Starscream allowed himself a split second of relief. That had come far too close to exposing him; and his stay in Iacon had only just begun. His relief quickly morphed into dread, however - both he and Arcee were now on even shakier ground than before.

The warlord was standing up to leave now - but he glanced back over his shoulder with a warning in his optics.

"Starscream - I want you and Slipstream to oversee drills in Alpha Zero next megacycle. I hope you haven't let your military aptitude rust too much while in Vos."

The seeker glared at Megatron's retreating back.

_How could I, my liege? As long as you're in power, Cybertron will always be at war._

* * *

 

Arcee was back to feeling like a loose end. She hadn't fancied touring yet more crystal gardens, so instead had drifted down to spend her afternoon by the lake. With a half-finished cube from the habsuite and a couple of datapads, she sprawled on the eastern bank and settled down to read.

It was hard to concentrate. This 'pad was an anthology of Vosnian myths, and she was beginning to understand the reason for Starscream's superiority complex - the seekers had invented a whole new pantheon of gods to explain their own existence. If they thought even the Thirteen weren't good enough, no wonder there was so much prejudice in their upper echelons.

However her musings on the failings of Vosnian society were sporadically interrupted, by squadrons of fliers screaming overhead like vultures.

They were about the only other lifeforms in sight. Iacon was at odds with the citadel here: where normally Arcee was constantly running into clerks and undercouncillors if she went exploring, she was now completely alone in the grounds, with only the pearly grey sky and silvery lake for company.

This must have made for an exceptionally dull panorama; all washed-out clouds and drab, impersonal stone - with a little smudge of a figure wearing matching colours and swimming in all of it.

A trio of jet-black silhouettes roared past, and the femme craned her neck to glare.

_I swear, this Daedalus mech created your kind just to slag me off._

Then a flash of gold emerged from behind the nearest habsuite tower. Arcee's frown softened, but remained in place as she pushed herself to her pedes.

"Metalhawk?!"

"Nightracer!" he called back. "I hoped you'd be out here."

He jogged the last bit of distance to meet her, holding a datapad out in front of him.

"I think you might have dropped this in the corridor."

Arcee was certain she'd brought all the 'pads she'd wanted from the suite, but she accepted it nonetheless with a word of thanks.

"I thought you were with Starscream," she added as she activated the device.

"I was supposed to be, yes," the mech agreed. "But he was called in to a meeting with Megatron, and they said my presence wasn't needed."

The Autobot was only half-listening. She stared at the datapad's screen, in confusion that was rapidly turning to horror.

_I was wrong. You've been noticed, and they want you replaced. Stay visible._

"Are you alright, Nightracer?"

The message was signed with the glyph for 'ghost', though she didn't really need that confirmation. It suddenly dawned on Arcee just how exposed she and Metalhawk both were out here - and there was nobody else around...

No, scratch that. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd just seen movement over by the spires. Better paranoid than in danger, she decided; especially given their location.

"Metalhawk - do you know if Starscream's finished with his meeting yet?"

"I imagine so, but I'm not sure."

Well, interrupting him was a risk she was prepared to take.

::Starscream?::

:: _Nightracer? Is something wrong?_ ::

::Maybe. Where are you?::

:: _Overseeing flight drills in Alpha Zero. Why do you-_ ::

::I'm coming over.::

:: _What? Why?_ ::

::I'll explain when I get there.::

Cutting the commlink, she turned to Metalhawk.

"The Winglord's requested our presence," she told him, grinning slightly despite herself.

They wasted no time rounding the lake and crossing over to the base. Arcee glanced back only once, and saw a lone, dark figure slip between the crystals lining the road.

* * *

 

"Were you followed?"

"Wouldn't be much point if I was. I think they gave up when they saw where I was headed."

"And who would 'they' be, exactly?"

Arcee's wings twitched. "I don't know."

Starscream gave a frustrated snarl, his servos tensing into claws as he turned away.

" _How_  he'd even explain it if he'd been successful"-

"Hey." A hand on his arm made him glance back at her, though he didn't drop his scowl. "I think we both knew something like this would happen. We'll just have to be on our guard."

"We already  _were_ , in case you'd forgotten."

Starscream knew her bravado was just a front - learning that Megatron wanted you dead wasn't something anyone save perhaps Overlord could take lightly - but it irked him all the same. Especially given that  _he_  couldn't hide how shaken he was by this turn of events. Not after the warlord's earlier comments.

"You don't suppose it was your mystery mech, do you? The one you let slip away for some unfathomable reason?"

"If that guy was an assassin, I'm leaving you for Megatron."

Even at that, she refused to rise. He almost wished she'd panic, so that he'd feel a little more validated in his concern - but annoyingly, that wasn't how Arcee operated.

Speaking of irritating femmes...

"Lover's tiff?"

Arcee snatched her servo back from his arm as though scalded, and immediately shoved him away. Slipstream smirked upon noticing that, as she leaned against the nearby wall.

Starscream regarded her distinctly coolly. The Decepticon femme hadn't wanted to let him out of her sight at all, when Arcee first showed up, and now it seemed they weren't permitted more than a cycle or two alone.

He mentally rephrased that, after a moment's pause.

"Nightracer's worried by how little she was told as to my whereabouts," the Winglord replied, brushing past the purple seeker and turning his gaze from her. "Hardly anything you need concern yourself with, Slipstream."

Behind him, he could feel Arcee's glare on his back - in response to him speaking for her.

_Don't give me that. I doubt you'd have had a better excuse._

All he got for his efforts was a stab of anger over the bond. Up ahead the overhang they'd been sheltering beneath retreated, and Starscream stepped back out into the training yard.

The seekers he and Slipstream had been overseeing were all clustered in the centre, but Metalhawk was hanging off to the side - he looked uncomfortably conspicuous in his bright paintjob, against the dark colours of the squadron. Arcee detached herself from their little group and mooched over to join him.

Slipstream chose that moment to sidle up.

"Well, Starscream - if they're sticking to the sidelines, looks like it's just you and me again."

As he grudgingly followed Slipstream back over to their charges, he couldn't help seeing the venomous look Arcee shot at his companion. Clearly, she'd reached the same conclusion as him: Megatron wanted her removed. And they were both looking at her replacement.


	15. Interlude: Anger Management

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BASICALLY JUST A CHAPTER OF PWP. I'm trying as much as I can for a setup where, aside from the scene in The Deed, all smut-related stuff is... kinda skippable? if there's people who want to skip it, but also easily identifiable. And also slightly separate, given that some of these will be just pure indulgence rather than contributions to the plot. ;)

Arcee had wanted to slip away far sooner than the end of the training session - but considering the message from earlier, that would be unwise. At least by staying at the base she had an abundance of witnesses to keep her relatively safe.

Even if one of them was Slipstream.

Remembering the other femme's antics as she re-entered the habsuite made her groan; leaning heavily against the wall. She got that Megatron wanted her dead, and Slipstream in her place (for maybe a lunar cycle at most, until Starscream was executed for treason). But if he was going to aim for her assassination, he could at least have the courtesy to make the rest of her stay here bearable - by not forcing Arcee's intended replacement on herself and Starscream at every turn.

Slipstream was  _pushy_. That was the only word for it, really, and even then it didn't do her justice. If she wasn't interrupting any conversation the Winglord attempted with his consort, she was bombarding Arcee with questions or else preventing her from reaching Starscream entirely. She put Arcee in mind of Polaris - and not in a good way.

Behind her, footsteps signalled Starscream's entry to the suite.

"I take it you were less than enamoured of our company this afternoon?"

"Yeah, but I'd probably use stronger language."

The mech snorted and moved to sit on the edge of the berth.

"It's all an act, you know. Deep down she's much more shrewd than she lets on - I learned that this morning. But she was tasked with driving a wedge between us, and so she played a part."

"I'm guessing the character description was 'irritating as frag'," Arcee muttered.

Truth be told, Slipstream's behaviour wasn't the only thing eating at her. She didn't like to think how close a call she and Metalhawk might've had earlier - and neither was she happy upon remembering that there were still days of the same thing left to endure.

All in all, Arcee decided, she needed some stress relief.

With a sigh she pushed off from the wall and crossed the room, headed for their suite's washracks. As the door slid open, she glanced back at Starscream.

"If you come in here after me, I will stab you."

"That private with our cleaning rituals, are we?" He'd found a datapad to peruse, and didn't so much as glance at her.

"I wasn't planning on  _cleaning_  myself," Arcee replied bluntly. Bonded, right? Not much point in keeping secrets. He'd probably hear some of it anyway.

That had a rather interesting effect on him. His wings gave a sudden jerk before he brought them under control, and his optics went wide, meeting hers momentarily before hurriedly dropping their gaze again.

A cough. "... I see."

Primus, she hoped she was reading him wrong here.

Sporting a slightly incredulous expression she moved to enter the washracks again - and paused in the open doorway. Briefly, Arcee allowed herself to contemplate where Starscream's train of thought might take him while she was out of the room. Spotting another furtive, darting glance her way, out of the corner of her optic, brought her to terms with the fact that no, she wasn't imagining things. He really did find that idea... arousing? Attractive?

Why that fact didn't bother her as much as it probably should have, Arcee wasn't sure. Maybe because she'd suspected him of harbouring those kind of thoughts since the bonding night.

Maybe it was because part of her actually wouldn't mind some company.

_Why the Pit not? He's tense as frag too, and I've probably just made it worse. Or at least harder to ignore._

"You want in on this?"

Arcee didn't miss the audible  _clunk_  as he dropped his datapad, or the bout of spluttering that followed. She'd almost made it to the cubicle before he managed to formulate a reply.

"I... sorry, w-what was that?"

"I said, are you coming with?" she called back.

Perhaps she should propostion him more often, the femme mused. It was clearly a surefire way to shut him up. When, yet again, no answer was forthcoming (she didn't look, but could imagine him gaping at the doorway), she decided to get on with things herself.

"Don't make me regret asking."

She stepped into the cubicle and switched on the solvent, content to just stand there for a moment - to let some of the tension bleed from her frame and wash away in rivulets.

That wasn't going to be enough for her to relax completely, though. With a quiet, indistinct noise she leaned back against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself to dip a servo into the wiring at her hip. She wished she could reach for her wings properly. For all the things she hated remembering about the bonding night, discovering her new frame could do  _that_  wasn't one of them.

Her other servo crept down to brush lightly over her panel, as the first made a few futile grabs for a wing joint. It retreated back to her waist soon enough, accompanied by a frustrated snarl.

Looked like Starscream had decided against joining her.

Or perhaps he was still reeling from her suggestion - she wouldn't be surprised. For a moment Arcee amused herself, imagining how he was handling that back in the main room. (On second thoughts maybe 'handling' wasn't the best word choice; it conjured up various thoughts that, in her current state, had a worrying effect on her).

Her charge was starting to build nicely by now, and she sent the command for her valve cover to open; slipping a digit further down once she was exposed and inching it over her anterior node. A hiss escaped from between clenched dentae, and her less-occupied servo flattened itself against the wall for balance as her cooling fans clicked on.

The femme let a moan slip free from her vocaliser - as such, she must have missed the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Nightracer?"

"Mmh?" The shoddy articulation couldn't be helped. She'd just slid a finger in.

A knock sounded on the cubicle door.

_Wonder how much self-loathing he had to wade through, before he admitted he wants this._

Somewhat reluctantly, she withdrew her servo from between her legs and stepped forwards to admit her consort.

"You wanna join me, then?"

Starscream stammered through a few false starts, gave up, and nodded.

"Fine." The femme reached for his arm and pulled him into the stall, spinning him round so she was back in her old spot and he was facing her. Eyeing her nervously, the Winglord stepped back a pace to close the door.

By the time he'd stopped fumbling and accomplished that, Arcee had moved to meet him. Resolving to get straight to the point, she palmed his codpiece.

Starscream yelped and tried to jump backwards, but there wasn't anywhere to go; his wings clattered against the cubicle wall.

"Ar- Nightracer!"

The femme rolled her eyes.

"I thought you wanted this?"

He rebooted his vocaliser, fidgeting slightly. "Well, yes, but"-

"I'm already exposed, so you may as well be."

The Winglord's shifting about immediately ceased and, somewhat predictably, his gaze dropped: Arcee saw his glossa dart out almost imperceptibly to swipe over his lips. This time when she reached for his panel he didn't resist - and the plating was distinctly warmer.

Starscream's fans activated, and she grinned.

"Go for my wings," she commanded. "I can't reach them myself."

Her other servo had found his vents like last time, and it took him a moment to comply. Sharp digits slid up her back to stroke the base of her wings, plucking plucking here and there at the wiring, before the mech gave a quiet snarl and pressed forwards to push Arcee against the wall. The femme's fingers crept round to investigate one of  _his_  wing joints. She was rewarded with his panel clicking open.

Their shift in position had placed Starscream directly under the solvent spray; and Arcee grudgingly admitted that he made for a pretty sight, with a damp sheen to his plating and his optics glowing through the steam. Still, that didn't mean she was going to go easy on him.

His spike was already halfway erect by the time she got her servos on it. A few quick strokes, everything slick with running solvent, a stifled groan from the mech and a shallow thrust; and he was clearly more than ready to continue - if the noise he made when she ran her thumb over the head was any indication.

Arcee squeezed him slightly and Starscream leaned further over her, venting hard. He choked out something that sounded suspiciously like her designation.

"Try and remember the right name to scream."

"It would be unfortunate if this -  _nh_  - was what blew our cover, wouldn't it?" he gasped in reply; talons digging into her aft as one of her servos left his spike in pursuit of a wing again.

"I'd suggest stopping that if you want me capable of... of reciprocating."

Arcee tried not to think about what that low, needy rasp of a voice was doing to certain bits of her. She complied with his request though, backing off to the point of light touches over his length.

Judging by his clenched dentae and the whine that slipped between them, that didn't exactly help matters.

Nevertheless, Starscream soon managed to drag a servo down between the femme's legs, going for the tried and tested claw-to-anterior-node approach. Arcee grunted in pleasure and tilted her hips into his touch, her helm resting back against the wall as his other servo stretched up to caress her wingtip.

One particularly enthusiastic thrust drew the end of his digit up inside her valve. Its sharp scraping over her outermost nodes coaxed a moan from the femme - the sensation was almost painful, but electrically so. Her port contracted around the intrusion, trying to pull it further into warm, wet heat.

The Winglord responded with his now-familiar infuriating chuckle.

"Are you still sure you don't want my claws in -  _ngh!_ "

Arcee smirked and tightened her grip on his spike again; her smile widened as a servo slammed itself into the wall beside her and dragged scratches down the metal. Starscream groaned, but he still apparently possessed enough wits to thrust his digit deeper into her.

The tip flicked the femme's ceiling node and a strangled noise tore loose from her vocaliser as lubricant gushed out over the Winglord's claws.

It also had the effect of making her servos contract again - this time involuntarily and therefore in a way that was far less calculated. The mech didn't seem to mind terribly, though. There was a faint hiss of pain at first but that quickly devolved into a wordless cry as Arcee took the opportunity to administer a few rough strokes. His hips surged forwards to meet her, and she was grateful that he still retained the presence of mind to keep moving that finger inside her valve.

It wasn't quite enough, though. Especially when he brought his opposable digit up to rub at her anterior node. Her moan that time was garbled by static (and though her optics were screwed shut, she was tempted to throw a punch at the smirk she could practically  _hear_  on his face) - but there wasn't nearly enough going on inside her port for the femme's liking.

Starscream flicked the little nub he was currently focused on and the sharp jolt that his sharp claw elicited brought her dangerously close to shouting his name.

"Starscream," Arcee panted, instead, "you'd better put some -  _ah_  - something more than a digit in me  _right now_  or"-

"Or what? You'll whimper at me?"

_Not quite._

The femme brushed her digits up the underside of his spike, tugging slightly when she reached the head; at the same time slipping her other servo back up to the vents on his abdomen. Starscream's response was a hitched gasp, followed - much to Arcee's amusement - by a whimper.

"You... you make a convincing point," the Winglord managed weakly after a moment or two. The talon in her valve withdrew, and a small whine escaped her momentarily; but then Starscream's servos were at her hips. He lifted Arcee up and pressed her back against the wall and she wasted no time wrapping her legs around his waist.

Despite the close contact, solvent still found its way through the gaps between them, trickling over heated plating before rising again as steam. Arcee slid her arms up over Starscream's shoulders and then down, grasping at cleanser-slickened wings to commence a thorough exploration.

He groaned and buried his face in her neck cables. The intimacy of that wasn't something the femme was entirely comfortable with - but then the Winglord started nipping at said cables and her doubts cancelled out at the touch of his glossa.  _Frag_ , was he good with his mouth.

His mouth, however, wasn't the bit of his anatomy she was most concerned with right now.

Insistently, Arcee rolled her hips up into Starscream's. He took the hint happily, shifting one servo to her thigh and cupping her aft with the other; before pushing the head of his spike into her valve. The femme continued her undulations, trying to pull him deeper; and found him all too willing when he complied with a growl and a frantic thrust. Arcee drew a sharp intake at the stretch.

A scrabbling noise at her side indicated Starscream groping blindly at the wall - his servo had left her aft in search of a way to stabilise them both. She tightened her legs about his hips, making her valve squeeze him, and the scrabbling turned to a metallic shriek as talons dug in and dragged.

The mech gave a shout, but it was muffled somewhat by Arcee's neck cables.

That at least provided incentive for him to start thrusting in earnest, and the Autobot gave an appreciative (and slightly showy, but if it messed with him then the end justified the means) moan. She shifted her own hips as best she could against his grip, rolling to meet him each time.

Starscream still seemed preoccupied by the wiring of her throat, though Arcee wasn't exactly complaining. She wasn't above taking advantage either, however, reaching blindly for his wingtips as her helm lolled back and running feather-light touches over them.

Although she was fully invested in her own release, it'd be entertaining to see how far she could push him before he snapped. He was certainly well on the way to that; moving increasingly roughly against her and groaning his approval of all this into her neck, his wings rattling as they pressed upwards towards her digits.

But it was hard to tally up all these things with his spike constantly shifting inside her. Arcee's exvents were stupidly heavy to her own audios and her legs had Starscream in a death grip.

When he adjusted his angle slightly her ceiling node came under the full attention of the head of his cable, and she abandoned all thoughts of competition completely.

" _Ah_ , keep doing that! Yesss..."

Starscream growled something along the lines of "I wasn't planning on  _stopping_." The femme bit her lip to hold in a laugh - only he, she was certain, could sound so slagging  _petulant_  in the middle of 'facing someone.

The sound that was next wrenched from her vocaliser, however, was less laugh and more static-laced yell. Starscream had clearly remembered about the sweet spot at her hip - his claws wormed their way in and dragged over the wires there. He'd lifted his helm from her neck by now, though it was still bowed as he watched the point where their bodies joined.

Without warning he pulled out almost entirely, before slamming back in - when Arcee responded with another shout, he tried it again. And then again, keeping up this harsh, rough rhythm; and the femme responded by rocking against him, her helm still resting against the wall. Starscream straightened up slightly to lean fully over her.

She sensed his shift in position even with her optics closed, and opened them momentarily - just in time to catch his smirk as he twisted the wires at her waist. Arcee hissed and pressed up into him. The solvent was making it hard to get a grip by now, but she clutched at his wings and bucked her hips and she didn't even care that she was moaning unashamedly now, shouting encouragements and garbled commands; because Primus above did she need this -

Then, suddenly, Starscream tensed up with a long, wordless and above all  _loud_  noise of completion. He continued to move within her, but the transfluid filling her valve told Arcee all she needed to know.

Soon, the only noises were the trickle of solvent and Starscream's laboured venting.

"Did you just...?" She knew very well what he had  _just_ , but the femme had decided that if nothing else, she'd at least earned the right to tease him about this.

Starscream groaned and rested his helm on her shoulder.

"You just overloaded."

"Shut up."

"Why should I?" Arcee could feel a slag-eating grin taking shape. "All that bullscrap about me being more sensitive after my upgrade"-

"What part of 'shut up' is beyond your comprehension?"

"The part where  _you_ "- she rolled her hips up into him again, and her smirk grew at the startled squeak that produced -" _really_  didn't. Guess the 'Screamer' nickname isn't unfounded, huh?"

The Winglord muttered something unintelligible and moved as though to pull out.

"Hey, hold on," Arcee chided, tightening her legs around him. "You'd better not be leaving. You're not leaving until you get me off. That was the whole reason I even called you in here."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Starscream snapped. "It's clearly not escaped you that my spike's out of commission."

The femme quirked an eyebrow.

"What if I told you I've changed my mind about your claws?"


	16. Chapter Fourteen: Little Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was the chapter I was really nervous about posting over on FF, as it introduces a kinda tropey and i guess divisive plot point? (Not going to spoil it here, but I'll talk about it some more at the end). I promise though that I'm not putting it in as some kinda magical unifier for Scream and Cee - it's more like I want to explore how I think they'd really react, as opposed to an ideal shippy reaction, mostly just because that idea interests me. I also promise that there won't be anything overly graphic or overly-organic involved - again, more at the bottom, if you don't mind being spoiled!

On on the third day, Arcee saw Knock Out again for the first time in two decades. She could've happily put the reunion off even longer, and not least because of the circumstances.

"Really, Starscream, you can complain all you want - I certainly couldn't care less. But it's just a routine checkup. Megatron's orders, and you don't want to go against  _him_."

"I still don't see the point. If I needed one, I could just as easily be seen to back in Vos!"

"You know, I don't think you've ever been in my medbay without complaining about something or other."

"And what is  _that_  supposed to mean, exactly?"

Arcee watched this exchange from her perch on a medical slab, swinging her pedes slightly. They'd both been cornered by Slipstream this morning and herded in here - and Starscream had not ceased his tirade since. She couldn't blame him entirely (a twinge of apprehension over something had slipped through the bond, and she was inclined to believe it was related to this), but it was really starting to grate.

"It means," she called over, as the medic began to snap out a response, "that you might want to shut up for once."

The looks she received for that ranged hugely - between outraged betrayal and smug amusement, and she had to bite back laughter. Knock Out smirked at Starscream before walking over to Arcee.

"Well I have to say, I'm glad you found someone who won't put up with your scrap, Starscream."

Yep, that was definitely a betrayed glare.

_Grow up. It's just a scan._

"Now, Lady Nightracer - if you'd lie back for me, since my other patient's being difficult."

Arcee obliged, and Knock Out flicked a switch that caused the berth to tilt slightly. From here, she could see Starscream again; he was watching them both intently, and the anxious furrow of his brow clued her in as to why.

Beside her, Knock Out was syncing a handheld scanner up to the nearby terminal.

"I'm sure this is nothing new for you, so just..." The medic trailed off as he turned to look at her - close up, for the first time. He blinked.

"Just...?" Arcee prompted. She tried to inject as much Praxian into that syllable as possible, and hoped she hadn't overdone it.

Knock Out rebooted his vocaliser.

"Sorry. For a moment there - well. Yours is a common frametype, and I should know... but I could've sworn you looked like somebody else. Can't quite place who, though."

Her spark was pounding, but Arcee laughed it off. Appearances, and all that slag.

"Primus, I know how you feel. I get that all the time. It's awkward, though, isn't it? You end up staring while you figure it out and"-

-"And then they catch you at it, yes." Knock Out chuckled a little himself. "I've had that happen before."

He turned away to make a last adjustment to the berth's angle, and the femme risked a glance over at Starscream. The Winglord was wide-eyed, but for once he didn't seem annoyed with her performance.

Of course, that might just have been fear getting in the way.

"So," Arcee said, turning back to Knock Out. "Did Megatron commission anything special for us, or is it a regular check up?"

"Nothing drastic," the medic replied, finally appearing to be satisfied with his working conditions. "But I  _have_  been advised to check the status of your bond. No offence meant, of course - just following orders."

_Of course. And if we were faking, now would be the point when we'd be condemned to execution._

That still didn't make her feel like the nightmares had been worth it.

"Can I get that out of the way, then? If it's just a quick check."

"I don't see why not." The medic hefted his scanner and keyed in a command.

"Relax," he advised her. "Shoulders back, if you please - it's easier to get a clear reading when you're not tensed up."

It was honestly surreal, being treated to such a pleasant bedside manner by a mech she'd faced in battle multiple times.

_More surreal than being bonded to one?_

The scanner beeped above her, and Knock Out hummed in contemplation.

"Well, everything matches up with your records as far as I can see." Arcee mentally thanked Prowl and his adjustments. "Nothing new here... sparktype Isomeric Positive, traces of Vitreous Negative - that'll be your bond, looks like that's all in order..."

"Does that mean you won't have to scan Starscream?"

Knock Out snorted.

"He still needs a regular checkup while he's here; but yes, I think I've got enough data from you that he won't have to endure any extra  _torment_..."

Behind the medic's back, Arcee caught sight of Starscream glaring. The Winglord executed a rude gesture in Knock Out's direction and she tried not to laugh.

"... Much to his delight, I'm sure," said mech finished; still, apparently, blissfully unaware of his other patient's dissent. "Delight which he's no doubt just expressed by means of some impolite gesture." Or not. "Which one was it?"

Arcee grinned, and demonstrated. Across the room Starscream had started and assumed a somewhat guilty expression, hunching his shoulders and hiking his wings up. Knock Out turned to look at him, amused.

"Thought so. That old chestnut's a favourite of his."

He focused back on his scanner once more, before Starscream could retaliate.

"That's more or less everything, I think. We can move on to the regular checkup n- hang on."

The medic paused, frowning suddenly.

"Hm. This is certainly out of the ordinary. Tell me, Nightracer - you've not been experiencing pain in your spark at all, have you?"

Though she answered "No" immediately, the femme felt a weight settle on her chest. In her experience, sudden anomalies during checkups never boded well.

"Any kind of strange sensations in your chest? Aching transformation seams? Stiff wing joints?"

"No."

"What's wrong with her?" Starscream barked from across the room, sitting up straighter and flicking his wings.

"Nothing, nothing," Knock Out said distractedly. "At least, not  _wrong_  per se."

Arcee pushed herself upright, too, biting her lip in worry. She couldn't go out of commission now of all times - that'd just leave the field wide open for Megatron to set something in motion.

"If it's nothing, why are you looking into it?"

"I didn't say it was nothing," said the medic. "Just that it's not necessarily a problem."

" _What's_  'not necessarily a problem'?!" Starscream snapped.

Disconcertingly, Knock Out started to grin at that, glancing up from skimming something on his device.

"Well, isn't  _that_  the million-shanix question. I don't see how it can be anything else - elevated energy levels in the corona, areas of high-concentration V-Negative particles..." His smirk widened, and he turned fully to face the Winglord.

"Starscream - how do you feel about becoming a sire?"

The weight on Arcee's chest seemed to double in size, and she felt a wave of numbness wash over her.

"W-what?" was all she managed by way of response.

"You're carrying, Lady Nightracer," Knock Out said blandly. "I suppose congratulations are in order, although considering it's Starscream's I'm not sure how appropriate they'd be."

Starscream apparently didn't have it in him to be indignant at that - his only reply was a strangled choking noise.

"You're sure that's it?" Arcee pressed. "It's not... I don't know... an illness, or something?"  _I'd even take Cybercrosis over this, for frag's sake!_

"I'm quite certain," said Knock Out. "A newspark leaves a very distinctive trace - it's hard to confuse with anything else.

"It's only in the early stages of development," he continued, "but that's to be expected, since your bonding was very recent." The medic grinned. "At least this is one piece of good news to take back to Vos."

Both Starscream and Arcee made noncommittal noises at that, and the femme found that they'd glanced upwards at the same time. Their gazes met, and the Winglord's optics carried the same message she hoped she was giving him.

_Well, slag. What do we do now?_

* * *

 

"We have to keep it, don't we?"

Back in their habsuite, Arcee was sitting crosslegged on the berth, her shoulders hunched. The rest of the checkup had passed without incident (though that was only comparative, as Starscream doubted anything could surpass the news they'd started with). He'd already received two messages from Megatron, requiring his presence in the main tower - but first he and Arcee would reach some sort of resolution about this, Unicron be damned.

And Arcee had her own ideas already, it seemed.

"Do you  _want_  to keep it?"

"That's the last thing I want," Arcee said. "As far as I'm concerned, we're still at war. I can't deal with a  _sparkling_  during a war. And I don't want to have to carry it, either."

T"But?"

"But..." the femme heaved a sigh. "Knock Out knows, and he's gonna tell Megatron. In their eyes, we've got no reason to get rid of it."

Starscream moved closer to the berth, folding his arms. "You could pretend to lose it."

Arcee flicked a glance at him, before bringing her knees up and resting her servos on them. She stared pensively at the wall for a few seconds.

"I could," she said slowly. "Or... I could use this to stop Megatron killing me off."

"How so?" the Winglord demanded, his wings giving a curious twitch. "Isn't using another lifeform for your own benefit a little un-Auto"-

"Don't say that here!" Arcee hissed. "Are you  _stupid_?"

Starscream froze, chastened, and rebooted his vocaliser almost guiltily. That hadn't been clever, and he inwardly cursed himself for forgetting where they were.

"Sorry."

Her expression was unreadable as she continued to stare at him. Quickly deciding that he'd rather not be scrutinised so, Starscream spoke again.

"We'd be best not to discuss any of this while we're here. Just... just in case."

"But we've still got a week before we go back."

The mech found himself smiling for the first time since setting foot in the medbay.

"I'll contact Polaris. I'm sure she can arrange an emergency of some sort, once I tell her what's happened."

* * *

 

The next day Starscream was back in the main tower for a final meeting, after informing Megatron of their planned departure. Polaris, true to form, had cooked up an excuse with practiced ease: according to the message she'd sent, Vos was having trouble with a potential uprising. There were rumours of more unrest than usual among the miners - it would, naturally, all be easily smoothed over just as soon as the Winglords returned.

Arcee had intended to head to Alpha Zero upon waking - but as she exited the washracks, a knock sounded at the habsuite door.

When she opened it, there was nobody outside.

Grinning, she moved back into the room. "Hello, Ghost."

"Lady Nightracer." The familiar voice emanated from over by a window as the door slid shut again.

"I guess you've heard that I'm leaving?"

"Of course," came the reply. "I hear most things that go on in these parts."

"Are you supposed to hear them?"

"What do you think?"

_I think I know exactly who you are; and I wish you knew who I was, now everything's gone to scrap. I think I could use a friend right now, and I don't know when I'll be able to speak to one next._

_I think when I am, I'll give Hound an update - he misses you._

"I think there's one piece of news you haven't heard." Perhaps he'd be able to get it back to the others before she could find time to tell them.

"And what's that?"

"I'm carrying. That's why we're leaving so early."

"Congratulations, my lady."

Arcee frowned. "Don't congratulate me. I'm not happy about it."

"It is something to be happy about, surely? A new life, and it's beginning in... in peacetime."

_This isn't peacetime for either of us._

"Maybe," Arcee conceded. "Either way, I'm returning to Vos later today." She hesitated, sinking down to sit on the berth.

"Why are you here again? I haven't seen you since the first day."

"I've not made myself visible to you since the first day," the mech corrected her. "But I have been around. I was shadowing you that first afternoon, when you realised you were being followed."

There was a soft  _clunk_ , and Arcee guessed he was shuffling his pedes.

"Although as it happens, I'm afraid I've got another warning for you. Starscream's planning something with Megatron. I haven't discerned what it is yet - but you might want to keep an optic on him."

The femme felt her wings go tense at that. Of course, Starscream still had to cooperate with the warlord - but the idea of them working on something so secretively gave her a sense of deep unease.

Still, if he  _was_  going against them... she alone had a way of finding out.

"I'll... I'll try."

"Don't put yourself in danger, though. Especially in your current state. A newspark's too precious to risk."

Something wistful in his tone made Arcee glance to where she thought he stood. Maybe she could get an actual message for Hound. Sort of.

"Do you have a sparkmate, Ghost?"

"I do," the mech replied solemnly. "It's been a long time since I last saw him, however." He paused. "In a manner of speaking, he gave me the name I'm using with you. I'm often away from him for long periods - he'd sometimes joke that people doubted I existed, when he told them about me. As though"-

-"As though he was in love with a ghost," Arcee finished.

"Exactly."

She was about to question him further, but a ping sounded in her helm suddenly. Starscream wanted her down in the main tower in ten cycles.

"Oh - looks like I need to move. Sorry."

"Don't worry. The sooner you can leave this place, the better." Sounds of stirring by the window told her that her companion was making to leave in response.

As the door opened, seemingly of its own accord, she called a farewell.

"Thank you, Ghost."

_Thanks, Mirage._

* * *

 

Starscream was immeasurably glad to turn his back upon the council chambers and begin his journey home. Arcee stayed silent as they traveled to the shuttle port - but once the seekers had boarded a craft and were bound for Vos, she turned to him and spoke.

"I think I should keep the sparkling."

Taken aback by her sudden comment, Starscream jumped and glanced behind him. Thankfully, Metalhawk was engrossed in something on his datapad, and didn't appear to have heard. The Winglord hadn't informed him of the situation yet; apart from himself and Arcee, the only ones who knew were Polaris and Knock Out.

And Megatron, no doubt, he had to remind himself.

"I thought you didn't want it."

"I don't. But I was gonna tell you before - I think it could buy us some time."

"I'm still not quite sure what you mean by that."

"Then listen. If we announce this - make it public, play it as something we're happy about - it takes away some of Megatron's leverage. He wants to replace me with Slipstream, right?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"So if this... announcement goes through, there's no point trying to get rid of me. If I die, you get to play the grieving sparkmate and"-

"Excuse me?"

"And,  _hear me out_. You play up the mourning, because you didn't just lose your consort. You lost a sparkling, too. Even if Megatron tries to push Slipstream onto you, you're too torn up over our deaths to think about taking another bondmate for a long time." She grinned. "Or that's what you'd tell him. Which at least gives everyone time to find a way to back out."

Starscream frowned at her, nonplussed.

"Do you  _want_  Megatron to have you assassinated?"

Arcee swatted at his helm, her expression turning sour.

"Obviously not, dumbaft. What I'm saying is, if Megatron knows what he's doing he'll leave me alone while I'm carrying. Otherwise  _that's_  gonna happen. And even if it does, it still gives us - well, you - a loophole to keep him away for longer."

The Winglord blinked in surprise as she stared at him, clearly waiting for an appraisal.

"Don't look so shocked. I'm not a politician, but I know how to worm my way out of tight spots."

That was a fair point. After mulling it over for a few seconds, Starscream smiled.

"That might well work. Megatron's not an idiot, it's surely occurred to him, too." The mech realised he was looking at an escape from at least one of the problems their trip had incurred - his grin widened and he grasped one of Arcee's servos.

"We'll announce it when we get back. I... I don't think you realise how much easier this makes things."

Arcee seemed a little startled by his gesture, but she still managed a suitably disparaging noise.

"Yeah, I've got no idea. It's not like I'm the one Megatron wants dead right now."

Even her barb couldn't puncture Starscream's mood as he settled back into his seat. That was one warlord-related burden removed - for now, at least.

He just wished the other one could be so easily fixed. If there was one thing he'd learned during their visit to Iacon, it was that the Kalis situation would not be resolved without violence.

* * *

 

Predictably, Polaris had been waiting for them upon their return. She wasted no time hustling the Winglords and Metalhawk up to the council chambers, where their news was delivered to mixed response. Sandstorm appeared pleased, as did Bitstream, but Red Wing and Ramjet were indifferent, and Arcee caught Switchblade regarding her with an expression of concern.

Metalhawk, too, looked a little worried about her reaction. She knew why, of course, and she was still far from comfortable with the idea of being pushed to the background by this. But her time in Iacon had been a frightening eye-opener in regards to the precariousness of her position.

Maybe the background was the safest place, for now.

The announcement was made public just after midday. By evening it was all over the newsfeeds.

Windblade was waiting for her in the sparring room when Arcee finally made her way down there. They'd scheduled a lesson, but the Autobot didn't know if she was up to the task at present. All she really wanted to do was recharge and clear her head.

The bodyguard's greeting came in the form of a smothering, lifted-off-your-pedes hug. Arcee laughed and leaned into the embrace; the vulnerability she'd felt in Iacon melting away.

"I see you recovered from your accident," the grey femme said as she was set back down.

"Yeah..." Windblade grinned a little sheepishly, tilting her helm to the side. "Sorry I couldn't tell you about that. But I mean" - her smile widened - "you could have told me  _your_  news sooner! I only found out 'cause everyone here's talking about it."

"Instead of getting your information direct from the Winglord's consort herself, delivered with a side of energon treats," Arcee replied, and Windblade pulled a face. "Must have been awful for you."

"Well, if you're offering energon treats to make up for that oversight, I wouldn't say no."

The Autobot laughed. "Didn't think to bring any."

Windblade's optic ridges suddenly slanted into a frown.

"About your news, though - you  _are_  okay with it?"

"Which part? Me carrying, or me carrying being all the newsfeeds can talk about?"

"The first bit. I thought you and Starscream had something... happen. Is this actually what you want, or did they tell you"-

"Hey." Arcee placed her hands on the other femme's forearms. "Windblade, calm down. We do need to keep you in the loop more, really - you worry about me too much when you don't know what's going on."

"Sorry." Windblade's smile was rueful. "But... you made up with Starscream, then?"

Arcee sighed. "It's complicated." She caught the look the Cityspeaker gave her and rolled her optics. "Not like that. This... this isn't just about whether or not we get along, anymore."

"Yeah, okay." Windblade nodded. "You know what you're doing, I can definitely see that. So..." She took a step back, resting a servo on one of her sword hilts.

"I'd like to formally welcome you to Vos, Nightracer's Sparkling, and extend my protection to you as well as your creators. My sword"- she gave an overly dramatic bow, with much twirling of hands -"is yours to command."

Arcee caught her optic, and both femmes burst out laughing.

"Well, on"- the Autobot swallowed a giggle -"on my sparkling's behalf, I accept your offer. Just try not to spoil them too badly."

Windblade snorted.

"I think you'll do well as a creator, though, Nightracer," she said. "Better than Starscream at least - but then, that can't be hard."

Arcee's smile was a little distant that time. It was just now hitting her that there was a tiny, potential lifeforce orbiting her own spark. When she'd spoken to Starscream it'd been a loophole, a reprieve; to the councillors it was an event. To Windblade, however, it was what it actually was: a little growing soul that would soon become another Cybertronian.

The enormity of that was suddenly all too great.

She didn't want to be responsible for bringing somebody into a world like this. But now the news was out, she had no choice.

* * *

 

"You're looking pensive."

Arcee's helm snapped round as she crossed the rec area, meeting Starscream's gaze. Apparently he'd just returned from his office.

She shrugged. "Just thinking about the..."

"The newspark," Starscream supplied, and the femme pulled a face. It seemed that everyone bar Windblade was allergic to the word 'sparkling' around here. Including herself. With a huff, she sank into a nearby chair.

"Yeah, that. I still don't get how this happened."

"We interfaced and sparkmerged at the same time. That's generally how these things work: the two connections create a loop of data and"-

"I know  _that_." Everyone knew that. The data cycled through both connection points, until enough from each participant had been collected to form its own bud and split off. Most of the pleasurable side-effects played no part whatsoever in the process. "What I don't get is - the first time's not supposed to do that. And we  _didn't_  do both at the same time."

"We didn't have to. That's not how it works; it just has to be in quick succession." Arcee regarded him sceptically, and he arched an eyebrow in reply. "It's true, ask Ratchet. There's a rather surprising number outside the scientific and medical fields who aren't aware."

"Well I wasn't exactly planning to get sparked up any time soon. I didn't need to know." The femme rested her chin in a servo, staring at nothing in particular. "I wish you'd ended up with this thing instead."

"I don't," Starscream muttered. She glared at him, and he continued hastily. "But I think I can shed some light on why it happened. You broke off prematurely, the first time we sparkmerged - I wouldn't be surprised if you took a piece of my spark with you, still charged with data from... before." He coughed. "Then when we sparkmerged again"-

-"That finished what we'd started." Arcee nodded. "I guess that makes sense. I still don't like it."

"You said yourself - it could well be what keeps you alive for the next few months."

"And after that?"

"After that... we'll have to reevaluate."

"Great." The Autobot slumped forwards, her wings flicking irritably.

"In fact, speaking of sparkmerging..." Starscream wandered over to her, and leaned against the wall. "Why, exactly, did I catch a glimpse of Vos - in its  _prewar_  days - in your memories?"

Arcee froze momentarily, and her expression turned stony.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Merely curiosity, for the most part," the Winglord replied. "The sort that prompts me to wonder why you hate this city so, considering you once lived here."

"I don't hate the city. I hate the way it was -  _is_  - run."

"And which part of my leadership doesn't live up to your standards?"

"The part where you prioritise seekers over everyone else," the femme snapped, finally twisting round to look at him. "I got moved here before the war and I was treated like  _slag_." In truth, at the time she'd dealt with it pretty well - and it hadn't been her worst job placement, as couriers like her tended to see the underside of any city in close-up detail on their assignments. Vos was no exception, but it hadn't been an especially awful experience.

What rattled her was that this mindset of superiority still persisted. She'd hoped the Decepticons would've at least stamped that out.

"I wasn't the only one, either. Anyone without wings - Pit, anyone  _with_  wings who wasn't a seeker - they ended up relegated to the worst jobs, the lower castes, the bad neighbourhoods." Her voice was low and heated, and she couldn't stop her tirade now - at last, she had somebody to tell these worries to, someone who would listen and understand if not her viewpoint, then at least what she meant. And yes, that someone was Starscream. But against all odds, he was actually paying attention. For now.

"You slaggers rigged it all, you controlled which mechs got into which castes if they were created here, and they only got anywhere if they turned into a jet. This place was like the caste system incarnate," she spat, "with all the worst bits of Functionalism thrown in."

"If it's worth anything, I can't have been more than an undercouncillior at the time," Starscream interjected. "I couldn't exactly put a stop to this."

"It's not. Especially since you're doing the  _exact same damn thing_  now, when you're the fragging Winglord."

"And where's your proof of any of this?" Starscream demanded, apparently still determined to cling to his perspective.

"I was a courier before the war, and before I ended up in this mess I was scouting round Vos," the femme answered, her voice now deceptively level. "I've seen the ugly side of this city twice, and it still looks more or less the same as it did back then. Only this time it's worse, because you're all struggling - but struggling for you is luxury compared to what some of your  _citizens_  are living through. I didn't fight and lose a damn war for you and your supposed Cause to do this."

The Winglord was silent for far longer than she'd expected him to be.

"What do you think made me defy Megatron in the first place?" he murmured eventually.

Arcee's optics widened in shock.

"You actually care."

"Of course I do. This was my home long before the Decepticon cause was even dreamed of," Starscream snapped. "And as to the elitism you so despise - it's not so simple as to just wave one's servo and dismiss it. There's long-standing"-

"Why isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why isn't it that simple?"

The mech heaved a weary sigh.

"Because Megatron has a vendetta against us seekers."

"I wonder why."

"This is the only place I can ensure their safety!" Starscream insisted. "I prioritise them, because I realised early on that he was trying to control me through them. If Megatron was to take Cybertron then I at least wanted Vos to be independent, but he crippled my citizens because he didn't trust me."

"You realise that's entirely your fault, right?"

The Winglord covered his faceplate with a servo and muttered a garbled  _'Yes.'_

Then he suddenly straightened, pushing away from the wall.

"At any rate, I shouldn't have to explain myself. What do you know about running a city?" he said, striding over towards the fuel store.

"Enough to know that you're hiding your prejudice behind noble bullscrap."

Starscream froze in his tracks.

"What about the Neutrals you decided to shelter? That was an act of rebellion, right? I guess the grounder ones were just convenient props for you." Arcee was on her pedes, and her wings were quivering with indignation. "And now they're stuck living in way worse conditions than your precious seekers. I'm not saying anyone in this Primus-forsaken city has it good, but you're  _actively making it worse_  for some of them."

The femme stalked over to the rec room door.

"Change it," she threw at him, before striding through and storming upstairs.

As she reached the quiet of the upper landing, feeling suddenly exhausted, a voice piped up at the back of her processor.

_Why don't_  you _?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I know sparklings can be a bit of a Marmite thing; but as I said above, I'm keeping this all mechanical/non-organic, I want the process to be quite alien, and that also goes for the growth/learning development or whatever of the actual character who will eventually appear (not technically an OC, because I personally don't see the point in me creating OCs here when I can just adapt super minor characters off tfwiki :p). This isn't about to get too human-esque, or affect how I write Arcee or Starscream's characters - as I said above, the whole reason I added it was to play with how they'd react in-character.
> 
> This also concludes my up-to-date-ing, so the next time I add a chapter, it'll be entirely new content that hasn't appeared on FFnet yet, either! :)


	17. Chapter 15: Causing Ripples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO it doesn't look like it on here but it's actually been a year since I posted any new content and I am super sorry. 
> 
> But here, have this and hopefully it'll distract you from the Carrie Fisher news for a few minutes.

Polaris was, naturally, perturbed by Starscream's account of their trip to Iacon. Hearing the tale recounted in his office, her expression reached levels of stoniness he'd previously thought impossible even for her.

"And now he suspects you of... what, exactly?"

"I'm not even sure at this point," the Winglord confessed. Which was true - Megatron didn't know what he was up to, as yet. (Nor did Polaris, for that matter). The warlord had obviously cottoned on that his second was doing something he shouldn't, however; and the only reason Starscream couldn't be certain what Megatron had guessed at, was that there were multiple things to accuse him of.

Shaking himself out of that train of thought the mech continued, sliding a datapad containing the fateful report across to Polaris.

"Megatron blames me for an uprising that's brewing in Kalis," he explained. "The main culprits are all Vosnian - seekers - and he seems to think... well..."

"Yes?" the councillor prompted, her voice icy. Starscream was just relieved her ire wasn't turned upon himself.

"He thinks that the Neutrals I'm harbouring here are encouraging support for the Autobots. Or even sheltering them."

"Well, that's ludicrous," Polaris said. "The reason most of us turned Neutral is because we didn't support either side, and he knows that." Her expression was disdainful as she appraised the datapad. "What action does he want you to take?"

"He wanted to remove all the Neutrals from Vos."

Polaris dropped the datapad in shock.

"You're not serious! That's your entire council, almost; Metalhawk, Windblade - Primus knows what they'd do to a Cityspeaker. And Nightracer. Megatron would have her replaced, surely. That could be disastrous."

"You do realise the list includes you," the Winglord pointed out. The councillor waved a servo dismissively.

"I said 'your council', didn't I? I'm more concerned with how you persuaded Megatron out of this."

"How can you be certain I did?"

"Well, we're all still here for one thing. And you got Nightracer home in one piece, which I can't imagine he'd have permitted otherwise."

Starscream briefly debated telling her about the assassination plot and, perhaps unwisely, decided against it - now that they were no longer in Iacon, there were far more immediate issues at hand.

"Well, I did suggest an alternative solution that Megatron agreed to adopt," he admitted instead. "But I don't think you'll like it..."

 

* * *

 

Arcee ventured down to the sparring rings a couple of weeks after her return to find them, surprisingly, almost empty. At this time of day - when many employees at the citadel were on a mid-morning break, and looking for something to do - that was practically unheard of. She should know: she tended to get bored around this hour and go in search of the same such entertainment.

The only other occupant besides herself was a grounder mech painted in red and gold. He was practicing alone, using one of the simple training sims that'd been rigged up. Arcee had never gone in for those - they were all Decepticon-produced. Better running through simple drills than fighting holograms of her friends.

"Hey," she called over as she approached. "Haven't seen you in here before."

The mech froze, glanced at her, and immediately shut off the simulator.

"I... Lady Nightracer?" he exclaimed, before grinning. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"Not much honour about it," said the femme. "I just decided to use these things the same time as you."

He looked a little dubious now. "Is that a good idea? Given your... condition."

"I've got months to go before this thing's protoformed," Arcee said defensively, folding her arms. "And if you don't think I'll cope - well. Feel free to challenge me and test that theory."

That earned her a slight, involuntary shudder.

"Fair point," the mech conceded. "I've heard what you did to Lord Starscream." He wandered over to the barrier around his ring and leaned against it, just as Arcee smirked and stepped up onto the other platform.

  
Something in the grin he flashed in return reminded her of another cocksure red mech.

"I didn't catch your name."

"Afterburn, my lady," he answered, inclining his helm.

"Just Nightracer," Arcee insisted for the umpteenth time. "Please." She paused for a moment, deliberating.

"You sure you don't want to spar?"

She doubted he'd be much of a match for her if he was just a citadel worker, but anything would be an improvement over drills or those simulators.

"Positive," Afterburn laughed. "I wouldn't be a challenge for you at all - there's not much point."

"Well, at least you're honest," Arcee said, and Afterburn laughed again.

She was just moving into her first practice stance when he added: "Maybe someday, though. I'll have to brush up on my skills first, but I'll keep your offer in mind."

"I could teach you if you like." The femme blurted that out without really thinking - but it made her companion's face light up.

"Seriously? You'd do that?"

"Why not? I've already got one student."

His lazy, easygoing grin was back now.

"Y'know," Afterburn mused, “people say you've shaken this place up too much, but I don't think you've done enough. I think you're exactly what we need." He pushed off the barrier and moved back to the centre of his ring.

"Maybe we could schedule a lesson for next week, Nightracer?"

"Looking forward to it," Arcee replied, and realised that she really was. It was hard to find anyone round here who wasn't either sickeningly deferential or painfully upper-caste when near her. She thought - or maybe hoped - that Afterburn might bring with him a little of the easy camaraderie that she missed from the Autobots.

Even if she was wrong, he was worth investigating.

 

* * *

 

The biggest downside to this new development, Arcee soon discovered, was how fragile everyone seemed to think she'd become. Truth be told she didn't feel any different as yet - but that didn't stop the anxious glances she came under fire from whenever she was in the council's presence; or Sandstorm's insistences that a separate bodyguard be hired for her - and if that weren't possible, then at least to have Windblade assigned to her as often as possible. Arcee had previously thought the Neutral femme to be quite level headed, with a distinct no-nonsense attitude. However, it appeared now that she was also possessed of a maternal streak a mile wide.

  
The newsfeeds, building an image for Arcee in her absence from the public eye, adored her for her undertaking. Probably because they were never around to see the fallout from her altercations with the council.

  
Afterburn, it turned out, was more sympathetic to her plight in this department. He'd taken her up on her offer of lessons - but most of his schedule clashed with Windblade's free time, so Arcee had ended up with separate sessions for both of them. She could handle that quite easily; it wasn't as though her self-styled protectors were letting her do much else with her days.

  
They even seemed to disapprove of her training her ‘students’. Sandstorm or Polaris could occasionally be found hovering outside the sparring room door, judgemental optics following Arcee’s progress up into the ring.

  
“I think they're a bit confused, personally,” Afterburn informed her after one such occurrence. “The sparkling’s the thing they're worried about, and that's not you - it's just what you're carrying. I mean, I get that if you were in trouble it would be too… but there's protective and then there's paranoid, y’know?”

  
He really did remind her of Cliff, sometimes.

  
Of course, she couldn't complain too much: she’d suggested this scheme in the first place, and its whole aim was to keep her safe. But much as Afterburn had said, there was safe and there was smothered. Arcee was distinctly feeling the latter, and it was starting to set her on edge.

  
As the restrictions and stipulations piled up, she could feel her temper ticking closer and closer towards some kind of event horizon.

One thing nobody would budge on was the matter of her going flying whilst carrying. Most of the council was in favour of keeping her grounded completely - and Starscream had absolutely incensed her by siding with the majority.

  
Arcee had been summoned to _that_ particular meeting purely to be informed of their stance. She arrived in none too pleasant a mood to begin with; the aching transformation seams Knock Out had warned her about were finally putting in an appearance, and having to trek from the north tower to the south while she'd rather be resting in the oil bath hadn't done her demeanour any favours.

  
The Winglord and his supporters were arrayed along one side of the council room table: Polaris, Sandstorm, Bitstream, and Red Wing. (Why Red Wing was even professing to care, Arcee wasn't sure. She'd be willing to bet he was on even footing with her regarding number of council meetings attended).

  
Only Switchblade seemed to have taken up Arcee’s cause. He greeted her at the door, arms folded and disappointment written in the angle of his wings.

  
“I'm sorry,” he said to her, voice low. “I tried to talk them out of this, but for some reason they think it's for the best.”

  
“Think _what's_ for the best?”

  
Behind Switchblade, Starscream rapped his claws on the table. He barely waited for the pair’s attention before speaking.

  
“We think it would be in your best interests, Nightracer, if you were confined to the citadel until the…” He rebooted his vocaliser. “Until the newspark is protoformed. Exceptions can be made for any officially sanctioned excursions, but other than that we'd prefer to keep you here.”

  
Arcee’s digits had tensed into fists without her consciously allowing it. Switchblade lifted a servo as she stalked towards the table, but the gesture seemed more for show than anything else - once she passed him, he took a handful of steps backwards.

  
That _he_ would restrict her like this, _knowing_ that she needed to visit the base, _knowing_ that she'd struck back against these confines before...

  
“Is that an order, Starscream?”

  
She let her EM field flare out a little, hoping the quiet fury buzzing through it might unsettle her consort enough to at least make him stutter over his response.

  
Out of the corner of her optic, she noted that Red Wing was now half-hiding behind Sandstorm. Good. Perhaps his newfound fear would make him think twice about voting against her in future.

  
“It's a council decision,” the Winglord said, drawing himself up to full height. Disappointingly, his only reaction to her tactic had been a startled blink. “Which means that if you try to flout it, there will be measures in place to stop you.”

  
Arcee turned her gaze on the rest of the council.

  
“And this is how you're looking out for me, huh? Instead of asking me to stay put, you jump straight into wasting resources on keeping me trapped.”

  
“You must admit,” Polaris cut in smoothly, “that your performance the very first night you were here went a long way towards convincing us this was necessary.”

  
“ _Your_ performance ever since I arrived is why I keep trying to get out of here!”

  
Polaris’ wings shot straight up in the air, rigid and quivering. Sandstorm had clapped a servo over her mouth - but behind her, Arcee distinctly heard Switchblade stifle a guffaw.

  
All eyes, slowly, turned towards Starscream, who was watching the tableau with an air of uncharacteristic detachment.

  
“If I recall, Nightracer, you were the one who agreed to make the citadel your home.”

  
The fragger didn't meet her optics as he said it. He was planting himself in the way of the operation, cutting off her only contact with her family, and he refused to even look her in the eye.

  
Polaris, on the other hand, was happy to do so. She smirked.

  
Arcee inhaled deeply through her vents.

  
“I agreed to live here, sure. I don't remember signing a prison sentence.”

  
Only then did Starscream turn his head towards her.

  
“Then perhaps you should have read the fine print. Being a ward of Vos doesn't mean you can simply do whatever you please.”

  
If they'd not had an audience at that moment, Arcee would've happily slammed him into the floor a second time, possibly with another punch for good measure. Sadly, such behaviour was less acceptable in the council chambers than in the sparring ring.

  
She settled, instead, for turning her back and storming out of the room.

  
“Being Winglord of Vos shouldn't mean you can do what you want with other people's lives.”

  
There was a low current of disapproving murmurs from the councillors behind her, but as Arcee passed through to the hall she felt a pulse of wry amusement from Switcblade’s EM field - almost as though he'd dealt a supportive punch to her shoulder.

  
The doors swished closed and her frame slumped.

  
What was most maddening wasn't that Starscream kept putting obstacles in her path - it was the fact he placed them there in the knowledge that he was actively hindering their objective. Arcee just couldn't see what he stood to gain from cutting off her communication with the other Autobots, or preventing her from moving freely around the citadel; unless he wasn't actually acting in the interests of their plan.

  
Which, as time went on, was looking scarily more plausible.

  
Sighing and shaking those thoughts away, Arcee moved to the staircase and rested a servo on the rail. Just as she was about to descend, a series of footsteps clicked up behind her - and her fingers instantly tightened.

  
“Did Polaris send you out here to tell me off?”

  
“Ostensibly, yes,” said Starscream. He stepped forward onto the opposite side of the stairs and leaned against the banister.

  
When he next spoke, his voice was notably lower.

  
“In reality, I came here to tell you that you should carry on with this furious rampage until you get to the habsuite - and _then_ you should take it right off the edge of the balcony.”

  
Arcee blinked. “So what, you think I should kill myself and you just forgot I can fly now? Did I really embarrass you that much?”

  
The Winglord gave a sputter of frustration, throwing his hands up. “I'm saying that you should stop wasting time, and fly off while you're still angry enough to have an excuse for doing so.” He gave her arm a gentle shove.

  
“Go,” he hissed. “I'll tell them I couldn't catch up.”

  
Still in a slight state of shock, Arcee nodded and stumbled off down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Her ‘rampage’, as Starscream had put it (he absolutely talked like a walking dictionary just to make himself feel important, she was sure), carried Arcee out onto the wraparound balcony on the lower level of their hab. She'd passed a couple of slightly terrified-looking clerks on the way, so she reasoned she'd given a convincing enough performance that Starscream would be able to spin the right story.

  
It was time to run while she still could.

  
Face a mask of concentration - takeoffs still being an occasional issue - the femme hopped up onto the balcony rail, crouching momentarily before letting herself drop forwards. As she fell from her perch the wind roared up to meet her; for a fraction of time it seemed as though the descent might never end, if she held perfectly still. She might sink forever through the air, as all her fears and problems streamed behind her like a banner and lost themselves in the sky.

  
Then the ground loomed up before her and she activated transformation protocols, rising in a steep curve between the surrounding buildings. She levelled out once she could see the citadel beneath her, and shot off towards the outskirts of the city.

In a matter of minutes, she was over the district where the Autobots had stationed themselves. This was a particularly run-down area of Vos; but it was also sparsely populated, so Arcee held out hope that if anyone spotted her, she'd be able to pass it off as Nightracer wanting to walk around somewhere undisturbed.  
  
She kept a wary optic out for red plating and narrow violet eyes, as she transformed back and dropped to the floor. Paranoid, perhaps – but in this case, better safe than sorry.  
  
Not least because any slip-up would just validate the council’s concern.  
  
The Autobots’ base was just a couple of streets from here, but Arcee took the journey slowly, knowing that another chance at this probably wasn't on the cards for a while. Her footsteps rang flatly against the sides of the rusting buildings as she followed the familiar path she’d beaten so often on patrols, before accepting this mission.

  
This time upon her return, she remembered to comm. ahead. There was a positive contingent waiting for her when she dropped down into the corridor: Arcee took in the faces of Ratchet, Bulkhead, Chromia, Moonracer - and in the back… she gave a small start. Optimus.

  
“I guess you want an explanation, huh?”

  
“Where to begin?!” Ratchet demanded. “You've not checked in with us for ages, Starscream _barely_ keeps us up to date - and we found out via the _newsfeeds_ of all things that you're now carrying a newspark! When were you going to tell us? _And_ ”-

  
“Ratchet,” Optimus cautioned.

  
The medic huffed but subsided into silence. That was perhaps a good thing; his outrage about the newsfeeds reminded Arcee so much of Windblade that she might not have been able to reply to him without laughing.

  
She heaved a deep intake to try and collect herself. Before she could begin to make sense of things for the others, however, something apparently burst inside Moonracer - she propelled herself forwards almost impulsively and wrapped her arms around Arcee.

  
“Congratulations,” she said pointedly, glaring at the rest of the group.

  
“I dunno if that's the right word for it, Moonie,” the seeker chided gently. Considering the circumstances. But thanks.”

  
“Well I figured _someone_ needed to support you.”

  
Arcee smiled and detached herself from her friend, turning to face the rest of the Autobots.

  
“I know I should've talked to you about this first,” she began, looking at Optimus. “But we found out while we were in Iacon. And there were… complications, that kinda made announcing it the best option.”

  
“I'm sure we'd all love to hear about those,” Ratchet replied, and Arcee opened her mouth to explain - but Chromia stepped forward.

  
“Maybe we should continue this in the main room?” she suggested. “I don't want to be standing around in a corridor when I hear it.”

  
“I don't really wanna hear it anyway,” Bulkhead muttered, which earned him a frown from Moonracer.

  
Nevertheless, Arcee’s welcoming committee all headed further into the base. The grey femme swung herself up to sit on a table upon entering the main room.

  
“Megatron tried to have me assassinated,” she announced. “Oh, and Hound” - she added, catching sight of a blocky green mech in the corner - “Welcome back, since I never got to say it. Mirage says hi.”

  
By the time she focused her attention back on the others everyone in the room was staring at her, gobsmacked.

  
_Good._

  
“I guess ‘Raj’s latest report hasn't come through yet.” Arcee grinned. “Figured you told him to keep an optic on Nightracer, so thanks for that, ‘cause he found out Megatron sent someone to kill me my first day in Iacon.”

  
Prowl - who had abandoned his work at a nearby terminal, and was looking profoundly shocked - spoke up.

  
“And when were you planning to come and tell us this?”

  
“I'm surprised Starscream didn't already,” Arcee admitted. “But I don't even know if he told his council - nobody's brought it up with me - so frag knows what he's trying to do there.”

  
“But how does this explain why you're keeping the sparkling?” Chromia interjected. “Obviously it's not because you wanted it, it's _Starscream’s_ , for Primus’ sake. And it's not like Megatron’s above killing a carrier.”

  
“I'm keeping it because Megatron’s not stupid. If he kills me while I'm carrying then he’ll set his own plans back.” Predictably, that earned her a few confused looks. “He wants to replace me with Slipstream - that base commander who was supposed to bond with ‘Scream in the first place. But if Starscream loses his carrying sparkmate, even if Megatron’s not implicated”-

  
“He can cite being in mourning, and push her away,” Prowl finished slowly, nodding.

  
“Then why doesn't ‘Cee just fake her death and get out of there?” Bulkhead demanded.

  
“Because that would only work for so long.” Prowl gave another nod at her reply.

  
Chromia was watching Arcee, looking slightly pensive.

  
“Did Starscream tell you that?” she asked suddenly. Arcee's wings twitched in surprise at the abrupt query.

  
“What d’you mean?”

  
“Did he tell you to keep the sparkling because of all that?” Chromia repeated. “Is he the one that's making you do this?”

  
“Nobody's _making_ me do anything, Chromia.” Arcee frowned. “I came up with this plan myself.” The other femme's optics widened, and Arcee wasn't sure what to make of that. Brushing it aside for now, she continued.

  
“There wasn't time to consult you or anything - we had to get out of Iacon, and we made the decision on the journey home. I know throwing a sparkling in this mix isn't ideal”-

  
“It's the opposite of ideal, if you ask me, Prowl cut in.

  
“Well I _didn't_ ask you, and if you want Slipstream in my place then meet me in the medbay and you can terminate this thing yourself,” Arcee snapped. Prowl blinked. “Trust me, that's the only reason I'm keeping it.”

  
Although the boost the sparkling had given her public image was also something she could easily use - what with the equally newborn idea, that'd been sitting in her CPU ever since Starscream confronted her about her past in Vos. She felt less guilty about that potential scheme. All it took advantage of was a side effect; not another, freshly-made life.

  
But above all, Arcee had come to decide, if she was to be a creator - she welcomed the challenge of making damn sure that the war wouldn't touch this sparkling.

 

* * *

 

Starscream knew Arcee wasn't stupid enough to stay out too long, but he was still relieved when she came flying back a couple of hours later. If she took note of the fact that he'd been waiting in the habsuite for her, she didn't say anything.

  
“You owe me an explanation,” she growled instead as she stalked through the balcony doors. “ _And_ ,” she added, jabbing a digit at him, “you need to keep the others more in the loop, and get them off my aft about all this newspark slag.”

  
The mech squinted at the digit waving under his olfactory housing, flicking his wings irritably.

  
“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

  
“You fragging well do know what I mean. They wouldn't shut up about how little they've been told, how they only found out about the sparkling” - Starscream felt the usual uncomfortable jolt of renewed realisation at her use of that word - “because we made it everyone’s business. I was hoping for a more upbeat reunion, really.”

  
“ _I_ was hoping for some gratitude that you had your reunion at all,” the Winglord huffed.

  
“What, because you pissed me off until I quit the room? You wouldn't _have_ to have done that, if you didn't side with your precious slagging council in the first place. Which reminds me,” the femme’s scowl deepened, and she lifted her chin defiantly. “I want to visit the grounder districts. In an official capacity.”

  
Starscream got the sense that she was planning something, suddenly.

  
“I don't see why that can't be arranged,” he agreed grudgingly, resolving nevertheless to keep an optic on her over this.

  
“Good.” Arcee turned, and headed towards the habsuite door. “And anyway - why did you side with the council, if you were just gonna pull this on them?”

  
“I'd have thought that was obvious,” Starscream replied, quirking an eyebrow. “If I just advocated for you to go wherever you please, it'd have raised their suspicions. These things need to be handled delicately, I think you'll find.”

  
“Right,” the femme muttered, sliding the door open.

  
“I'm going down to the sparring rings,” she informed him as she left. “Promised I'd meet Afterburn there this evening.”

  
Starscream was only half-listening at this point, too busy heading for the energon store. It wasn't until the door closed that what she said registered.

  
“ _Who?_ ”

 

* * *

 

He'd planned on getting an early night, but it seemed that wasn't to be now. Instead, Starscream found himself venturing down to the disused accommodation block, for perhaps the third time since Arcee had first begun her project. The door was already open, thankfully - allowing him to linger in the corridor and watch undetected.

  
Arcee had made a new friend, it seemed: a mech whom Starscream had never seen before, and who he certainly couldn't recall showing up on any roster of employees.

  
_Afterburn, I presume._

  
This one bore some looking into, the Winglord decided. He didn't keep tabs on everyone working at the citadel, quite obviously - but he was reasonably sure he would've spied this mech around before now, if he was employed here. Certainly with that paintjob.

  
Starscream noted also, in his observations, that this newcomer was nowhere near a match for Arcee in combat. He was too fixated on his own movements, neglecting to anticipate her attacks, and often failing to spot her next moves when he went on the offensive. Even with her wings occasionally unbalancing her, the femme was easily besting him.

  
Regardless of the disparity in skill, however, they were clearly both enjoying themselves. Afterburn stumbled round to face the doorway and Starscream only just stepped behind the frame in time - when he chanced another look, Arcee was grinning broadly as she ducked beneath her opponent’s arm, her wings sweeping down out of the way in a graceful curve. Her purple optics were alight with something almost gleeful.

  
She was rather beautiful in battle, it had to be said.

  
Starscream caught himself moments later and squashed that thought, just in time to watch as Arcee gave a sudden grunt of pain and doubled over, hobbling away to lean on the ring’s barrier. Afterburn followed her, and the Winglord watched from his shadowy vantage point as Arcee sank down and sat on the floor.

  
“Fragging seams again,” he heard her growl.

  
“You don't have to carry on, y’know, if you”-

  
“No! No, I'm good.” Even from here, Starscream could see the grin that blossomed on her faceplate. “Anyway, I can still kick your aft with sore wings.”

  
“Oh yeah?”

  
“Watch me.”

  
The seeker rolled his optics at that - if she didn't heed the cues her body was very obviously giving her, she'd end up seriously hurt one day soon. Carriers just weren't best suited to physical activity.

  
Not that she'd let that stop her, of course; Arcee would continue to do just as she pleased, and to Pit with the newspark she held in her chest.

  
Once again, Starscream diverted his thoughts down a different path. He hadn't yet stopped to think too much about said newspark, and he wasn't about to start now. Hopefully, he'd never have to do much thinking about it. He was under no illusions that he'd be of any use around a sparkling - not least because from his limited exposure, he could barely stand them - and had no intention of making much effort to care about it.

  
Arcee probably wouldn't want him near it, anyway.

  
The match in the sparring ring was well underway again by now. His consort was still moving somewhat gingerly, but she'd thrown herself back into the fray with gusto - a triumphant shout of laughter floating back to him as she shoved Afterburn against the barrier.

  
Starscream’s thoughts drifted to _their_ latest altercation. The atmosphere of that, and of this exchange before him, were worlds away. He doubted that Arcee would ever be as comfortable in his presence as she was here; no matter how long this arrangement of theirs persisted.

  
The Winglord found he didn't want to watch any longer. With a heavy sigh, wings dropping down his back, he turned and walked back to the habsuite.


End file.
